


Rather Empty and Not So Vacant

by laugh_a_latte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Boys Kissing, Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Literally Musicals, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mini Road Trip, Musical Draco, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Post-War, Singing, Theatre, flangst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:04:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10998966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugh_a_latte/pseuds/laugh_a_latte
Summary: Overwhelmed by the aftermath of the war he never asked for, Harry has left England and fled to America. In his confused and frantic state, he runs into Draco Malfoy (literally) in the most unlikely of places.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry knew he wasn’t being rational.

He knew it like a dagger buried deep within his conscience , but he couldn’t help it. He needed to get away from it all. If he heard another girl scream from seeing him, heard another camera snap from behind a bush, for Merlin’s sake, read one more ridiculous article emblazoned across the Prophet’s cover, attended one more memorial service or ministry party, gave one more speech, or saw just one more poorly concealed worried glance between Ron and Hermione, Harry was going to explode. Emotionally, hysterically, and probably physically, by the way he felt.

Harry knew he wasn’t being rational when he threw every basic thing he needed to live into a trunk.

He knew it when he booked and boarded the first plane out of England to America.

He knew it when he landed in New York City.

He knew it when he wandered the streets for two days and a night straight without sleep.

He knew it now, two days later, in a shaky, old car he’d dropped $900 on from a shady figure, going eighty miles per hour down some toll road towards who knows where.

But Harry didn’t care. He didn’t care if he was being mental, spontaneous, crazy, whatever, because no one here cared. No one here screamed his name, or fainted when they saw him. No one here tried to touch him or take pictures without his permission. No one noticed him, he was anonymous. He was just another tourist. He was free.

This was going through his mind for about the eightieth time that day, relief still buzzing through him when the dashboard started dinging. Harry noticed with annoyance that his gas meter was approaching empty. But, he did kind of enjoy the American rest stops, and one was coming in the next few miles, according to the ample highway signage.

Once it was in view, Harry carefully switched lanes (driving on the right side of the street definitely felt wrong, it was quite an adjustment) and found himself pulling into a very nice rest stop. He must have crossed a state line without realizing it, because he had been noticing that every state had varying levels of rest stops. Some were very nice, while other states had smaller, kind of dirty ones.

This one was quite large, with plenty of large glass windows, all reflecting the blazing morning sunlight, making him look away. Harry pulled into the only free gas pump, then went inside to pay. Harry pushed open the glass door and entered another world. These rest stops were actually kind of fun to explore, he thought. There were all kinds of people in each one, and he enjoyed trying to figure out what each person was doing there. Why were they here, at this certain rest stop? Where were they going? Were they on vacation? Were they truck drivers? Maybe, Harry liked to think, they were on the run. Harry realized, once again, that he was kind of on the run. Not from some dark lord, or enemy, or anything. He didn’t exactly know what from. He pushed that thought back further into his mind

This rest stop reminded Harry of a mini airport terminal, like a tiny Heathrow. There were a lot of food and coffee kiosks, with a large dining area. On the other side were a bunch of little gift shops and rest rooms. Harry walked up to the welcome desk where there was a wall of pamphlets and a huge map. Harry saw he was on the eastern edge of Ohio, so he had indeed entered a new state. He paid for his gas, then was about to go refill, when he decided that he was pretty tired and maybe a little break wouldn’t hurt.

Harry wandered to the food area, which was pretty full. Harry thought it must be a Saturday if all of these people were passing through. He realized with a start, stopping in the archway that separated the welcome area from the dining area, that he actually had no idea what day it was. He laughed a little, maybe he was going crazy. But he was pretty tired too so maybe that was it. He found a Starbucks kiosk, ordered a venti coffee (with a little cream and a lot of sugar), and reveled in it’s comforting warmth and taste.

Where to next? Harry started walking towards the exit to gas up. He had left New York two days ago and had literally just been driving without much direction since. Harry considered that maybe he should figure out what he was even doing. He had left England, check that off the list, hasn’t been bothered by screaming pedestrians, check, and he felt lighter, freer, so check. Though he couldn’t shake the sense of guilt that had been brewing in his chest. He left without telling Ron or Hermione what was going on. As far as he knew, he realized, no one knew where he was. It was nice in a sense, but Hermione and Ron must be worried sick. He was supposed to go for dinner the night that he—

_—BAM!_

Harry fell backward, barely catching himself from falling spectacularly on the floor, death grip on his precious coffee, other hand flailing until he caught a wall. He was seeing black spots and the breath had been completely knocked out of him. Harry had almost come to his senses when he registered a voice.

“—where I’m going, didn’t mean to run into . . .” the voice trailed off, and Harry, now fully back to the present, looked up to apologize, he had been way lost in thought.

“Sorry,didn’t mean to— _Malfoy?_ ” Harry was shocked to find himself locking eyes with the wizard who he had not seen, nor really cared to see, in the year since the trials. Those cold grey eyes he knew so well from years of receiving their death stares now looked at him once again, though this time softer, lighter, widened in shock.

They must have been locked like that for a full minute before breaking the spell.

“Potter,” Malfoy said simply, lightly, as if they were just greeting each other at the office. Any stranger still onlooking their collide would say he was calm, but Harry noticed how tense he was in the way his eyes were still widened, just slightly, and how rigidly he stood.

“Malfoy, I didn’t expect to . . .” Harry’s words were lost, mixing with the memories swarming back, his previous thoughts, and the sheer oddness of this situation.

“Run into me. Literally. Here. Yes, well, I can say the same to you,” Malfoy picked up, recovering a little more. Harry noticed Malfoy was looking over his shoulder. “Here, we better move, we’re kind of blocking the way.”

Harry realized they’d collided in the archway, and the onlookers to this spectacle were actually trying to go somewhere, so the two men moved out of the way, both still dazed, and not because of the crash. Harry recovered himself.

“Sorry, I just really can’t believe what is happening right now,” he sputtered, after they ducked into the cozier Starbucks kiosk.

“I actually agree with you, for once in my life,” Malfoy replied, tone neutral, and Harry found it odd to hear Malfoy’s voice without a drawl or bite to it. It was actually rather soft and pleasant, Harry remarked, dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry, but what are you doing here?” Harry asked, genuinely curious, gassing up completely forgotten.

“Well I was driving along and realized I was running low on fuel, you see, so generally when that happens one will—” Malfoy cut off at Harry’s confused look, and started laughing. Like genuinely, actually _laughing._ Harry couldn’t speak. “Oh _Lord_ , Potter you should really see your face. I’m just messing with you. I work in the States,” Malfoy replied after a moment, a nice smile planted on his face, lighting his grey eyes up silver. A fly away hair threatened to drift into his eye, Harry noted. He found himself again.

“You work in the States? What, like, with MACUSA?”

Malfoy hummed. “Well, no. Actually, never, that sounds horrible. MACUSA is a fucking nightmare. You think the Ministry is bad? Try MACUSA,” Malfoy said seriously, nodding along to his thoughts.

“So, what are you doing here?” Harry was genuinely confused now.

“I could ask you the same,” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and Harry was suddenly back at Hogwarts.

“I just haven’t seen you in a year, Malfoy. I've barely even thought of you in a year. I didn’t even know you lived in the States and to run into you here? In the middle of a fucking-where are we? Ohio rest stop? I'm going insane,” Harry retorted, satisfied when Malfoy's eyes widened once again.

“You're far past 'going' insane, Potter. I would say you're already there,” Malfoy recovered smoothly.

Harry didn't know what to say. 

"Look, Potter," Malfoy's features smoothed. Harry realized he'd been lost in thought, and it must have shown. "We can both agree, as odd as _that_ sounds, that we're both a little shocked right now, but the past is behind us, for the love of God." Harry found himself agreeing. "Anyways, I’d love to stay here all day and chat,” Malfoy continued, “or even find out why you, England’s Golden Boy, are here in the middle of nowhere, USA, but I do actually have somewhere to get to and I’m on a bit of a time constraint, so please excuse me,” Malfoy nodded at him, then turned away to leave.

He was a few steps away when Harry called out, “See you, then, Malfoy.”

Malfoy turned his head backway halfway, with an unreadable look on his face.

“Maybe,” he turned back around and was gone in a moment.

Harry stood there and stared at where he’d left until his coffee had gone cold.

This wasn’t rational.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story begins. Thank you for reading!

Harry’s eyes couldn’t stay open anymore, and he knew he definitely needed to pull over. Once again, here he was, driving into another rest stop. Since the Malfoy encounter, Harry had crossed another state line into Indiana. He noted that their rest stops were actual hell. Small, dirty, shady, run-down. And they were all the same, carbon copies of one another.

But Harry was far too gone to care. He rolled his old beater into a random, far away parking spot in the massive lot. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine groaning to a stop, and Harry blinked into the darkness when he doused the lights. It really was quiet, the only sound was the occasional semi truck barrelling down the highway, echoing back to Harry. He unbuckled his seatbelt, and made his best attempt to get comfortable in this cramped car. Maybe he should have tried to keep going until a motel popped up, but he was just too tired.

He finally rolled over into a semi-comfy position and relaxed to let sleep take him. But, it never did.

Thoughts from earlier that morning overwhelmed his now idle mind. Without driving to distract him, it really was too much to sleep.

Harry had not seen Malfoy since the trials. He thought of him then, small, frail, beaten down. He was broken to what Harry thought of as beyond repair. He had never thought Draco Malfoy, once prideful, boastful and loud, could ever look like he did that day. He looked just so lost. Harry wanted to speak with him then, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The small voice that came out of him when he was being interrogated echoed through his thoughts. He never wanted to hear that again. He remembered watching Malfoy, small, bent over and beaten, being hauled away forcefully by aurors, out of the courtroom after his pardon. That was the last Harry had seen of Draco Malfoy.

Harry could hardly compare that man to the one he met today. His darkened, empty eyes from the trials were brimming with life, glowing silver with the quirk of his smirky smile. His paler features shown warmer, pink tinting his cheeks from the hot, humid weather outside. His hair, Harry realized, was no longer pasted back with gel. Actually, Harry thought with a start, it was loosely pulled back. Maybe into a ponytail or bun? Harry couldn’t remember. He did remember that flyaway, though, that threatened to whisp into Malfoy’s eye the entire conversation. He really should get some sleep.

And Malfoy stood like a new man. He wasn’t small or frail anymore, he stood tall, back straight, perfect posh posture that Harry remembered from their Hogwarts days. He looked healthy, with no dark circles engulfing his eyes, hair white and glowing in the light.

Moving his thoughts in a new direction, what had Malfoy said? Not working with MACUSA? Then what on earth was he doing here? It couldn’t be something muggle. Harry smirked at the thought. But if it wasn’t with the Congress, then what could it be? Harry felt a familiar want creeping back into his heart. What was Malfoy up to? What had he been doing in America while Harry was holed up and miserable in England?

He tossed and turned with the thought all night.

~~~~~

Harry groaned as he pried open his eyes, the sun blinding him. Where the fuck was he? It was so bright and, oh, he was in his car. He was at a crappy Indiana rest stop. He fell asleep thinking of Malfoy.

Harry’s life really was weird.

He tried to work out an awful crook in his neck as his arched his back, hair just brushing the ceiling of his car. He laid back for a few more minutes, willing his tired, aching body to go get some fucking coffee before he died of decaffeination.

Finally, he worked up the energy to take off the stale shirt he had slept in and pull on a different one, a pastel green checkered t-shirt was the first thing he found in his duffel bag.

Harry put the key in the ignition, because he was not about to walk across this never ending lot to get the the rest stop, and turned it expecting to hear a rumble. His heart dropped when all he heard was—

_Click. Click. Click._

“Oh _fuck_ no,” Harry panicked, “not today.” He turned the key again, pumping the gas. But this time, there were no clicks at all. Dead silence.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Harry let out an exasperated sigh, and slammed back against his chair. He slowly counted backwards from ten. Then did it twice more for good measure.

He got out, satisfied at the resounding _slam_ of his car door, and began the trek to the rest stop, pissed off at the world. Maybe he could get a ride? Call someone? What was he going to _do?_

Harry ran ideas over in his head as he reached the dirty glass door, pushing his way through. This stop was definitely not as magical as the last, he thought. Much grimier. And his car died. He guessed that’s what happens when you buy a car for dirt cheap from a shady stranger.

Harry resigned to a cup of his dearly beloved coffee before tackling this issue. He felt blessed to find some off-brand coffee kiosk in the small dining area, but he stopped dead in his tracks as a once again familiar voice crept up from behind him.

“I actually cannot believe this is happening right now,” it scoffed.

Harry turned around to find Draco sodding Malfoy standing a few feet behind him, looking fresh as a daisy in black shorts and a flashy unbuttoned flannel over a black tank top. His eyebrows were raised in humor, a smirk drawn over his features.

“What the fuck,” was all Harry got out, in a small voice.

“For the second time in in a mere 24 hours, I agree with you,” Malfoy said, taking a sip of the coffee in his hand, “which breaks a record. Congratulations, Potter.”

“What a day. I’ve only been up for like, thirty minutes,” Harry said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Are you quite all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Malfoy remarked, not unkindly, stepping closer to a normal conversing distance.

“Okay,” Harry said, “I mean I literally woke up to find my car dead, so I’m kind of stranded here. And now, here we are again. Running into each other in the middle of nowhere. So it’s been a crazy few days and this is actually crazy. I must be going crazy.”

“Potter, to be honest, at this point I’m thinking you’re some kind of sleep deprivation-induced hallucination. So maybe we’re both going crazy,” Malfoy offered a smile. A fucking _smile._ There is no way this is happening, Harry thought. Draco Malfoy is _smiling_ at him. He felt himself go paler.

“Come on then, you look like you need coffee,” Malfoy said, walking straight past him. He kept on a few paces, then stopped and turned back when he realized Harry wasn’t following.

“Well, Potter?” He offered. Harry snapped out of his thoughts and followed him.

Harry bought himself a coffee, wondering why Malfoy had led him over just to make Harry buy the coffee, then sat down with Malfoy across from him, trying his best not to look stark mad.

“So, you said you’re car died?” Malfoy inquired, looking genuinely interested.

“Yeah. I, well, actually was sleeping in it in the parking lot, and it wouldn’t start when I woke up,” Harry said sheepishly. Malfoy nodded along, and Harry found it remarkable once again how Malfoy didn’t try to make a snide comment about Harry’s current sleeping arrangements. “It’s a really old and cheap car though, so I’m not exactly surprised.”

“Hm,” Malfoy nodded taking a gentle sip of his coffee, which, Harry suspected, was black. He had never actually seen Malfoy put anything in his cup back at Hogwarts. And, believe him, he had been watching. “Where exactly are you headed?”

“Well,” Harry began, then trailed off. Where was he going? He probably should figure that out. “I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“What do you mean?” Malfoy’s brow furrowed.

“I mean I’ve just been driving for the past three days but haven’t had anywhere in mind,” Harry replied.

“Potter,” Malfoy put down his coffee, looking Harry square in the eye, “what the _fuck._ ”

Harry held his gaze, not speaking.

“ _Why?_ ” Malfoy asked, looking truly surprised.

“I just . . .” Yes, Harry, why? “I just don’t know I guess. I wanted to get away. You know. From England. From everyone.”

Malfoy’s rather harsh look softened slightly as he searched Harry.

“I see.”

“You _see?_ What does that mean?”

“Well, obviously I can’t know your exact reasoning. It seems to me you don’t even know it yet, going by the sad, confused puppy look you’re pulling. What exactly have you been doing this past year?” Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly after that last question. “Oh my god, it’s really been a year,” he said, Harry realized, to himself.

“Yes,” Harry replied, giving up no more information.

The two men sat there in silence, each lost in thought. Harry hadn’t been doing anything, really, except hiding out in Grimmauld Place. Doing nothing for days on end, not even eating. Not seeing Ron or Hermione until one of them showed up and dragged him outside to do something. Harry didn’t want to do anything. When he did things, that’s when the cameras snapped and fans screamed and he could not catch a break. What had he been doing in the last year? Dying. He was mentally dying. He couldn’t stand it.

Malfoy stood, and slid his chair back, causing a loud screeching noise, which snapped Harry out of it. He looked up at Malfoy, who was looking down at him like he was expecting an answer.

“What?” Harry asked, voice catching slightly.

“I said let’s go,” Malfoy replied. Harry must have looked confused because Malfoy continued. “Let’s have a look at that car.”

Ten minutes later, Malfoy had the hood popped up and was staring inquisitively into the belly of the beast, hand cupped around his chin. Harry stood of to the side, arms crossed, wishing he’d gotten something iced and cold. It was much too hot for eight in the morning, and he was much too tired to give any thought as to why Malfoy would know anything about anything as muggle as a car.

He noticed how strikingly white Malfoy’s hair was in this blazing sun. And, Harry saw, it was long, pulled sloppily back into a low bun. There was a pencil holding the whole spectacle together. A _pencil._ Harry shook off a weird urge to pull it out and see what would happen. He didn’t ever think he’d find Draco Malfoy in flashy clothes with a pencil bun. Who would? This couldn’t be happening.

“Just what I thought,” Malfoy finally concluded after few minutes of gazing into the engine.

“What?”

“I really do know nothing about cars,” Malfoy lamented, nodding at Harry.

“Then what are we doing here?” Harry complained, exasperated.

“I wanted to see your living quarters for myself,” Malfoy sniggered, peering into Harry’s windows. “And, I wanted to be sure I had no other choice.” Harry waited. Malfoy ceased his inspection, then turned and smiled at Harry.

“Ever been to Chicago?”

“What?”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Malfoy sighed. “Well, come on.”

“What?”

“You don’t have any mode of transportation,” Malfoy stated, then rolled his eyes, and as if speaking to a child, “I am offering you a ride, Potter,” he gestured to the car. “You’re getting nowhere fast in this thing.”

“Stop that,” Harry huffed, annoyed at how Malfoy spoke as if everything was obvious to everyone. Harry couldn’t read his bloody mind. Harry resigned his thoughts, following a laughing Malfoy to his car after throwing all of his scattered belongings into his duffel bag.

Chicago? Huh.

~~~~~

Malfoy drove a convertible. Harry supposed this would be shocking, but considering his day, it really wasn’t. This whole situation was surreal, from Harry’s panicked departure from England, to Malfoy’s pencil bun. Not to mention, Malfoy was being kind to Harry with only the occasional snide remark. Even then, there wasn’t a real bite to them. What had happened?

“She’s a little run down, but she sings on the highway,” Malfoy boasted as he revved the engine, which danced to life.

“You said Chicago?” Harry inquired, voice soft.

“The windy city herself,” Malfoy replied.

“Stop doing that,” Harry said, not really meaning to. It just slipped, like he couldn’t help being a little snarky to Malfoy.

“Doing what?” He replied, finally getting a little bite to his bark. His posh accent was suddenly back.

“ _Gendering_ things.”

“It’s my car, I can do whatever I’d like with her,” Malfoy signaled his intent to merge onto the highway, quickly accelerating. Harry wasn’t expecting the large gusts of wind that whipped his hair back around. He had never been in a convertible before.

“But the city, you can’t gender a city!” Harry argued.

“Yes I can, and I did. All cities have souls, you heathen. I think they would like to be treated as such,” Malfoy stated. Harry considered this.

“Then why are they all girls?”

“Huh,” Malfoy got a questioning look on his face. “I don’t think I have an answer to that. I mean, who thinks of a car or a city as a he? Chicago's so beautiful, I really love his atmosphere,” Malfoy shook his head. “No, definitely not. That sounds weird.”

“Why are we talking about this?” Harry wondered after a beat.

“It’s called having a conversation, you brought it up, anyways,” Malfoy offered a sidelong glance, a smirk dancing across his features.

“Okay then,” Harry began after a few minutes. Malfoy had turned on the radio quietly in the meantime. He had been humming along softly, like he wanted to sing but couldn’t quite get the words out. “Why are we going to Chicago?”

“I live there,” Malfoy replied, frowning slightly as he concentrated on changing lanes. “I’m travelling back from New York City.”

“What were you doing in New York City?”

“I was visiting a friend there.”

“You have friends in New York?” Harry was confused.

“Yes,” Malfoy said. After a beat he continued. “A lot of people I know are in New York. I guess they were technically co workers at one point. I enjoy seeing their work there. I’m really proud of them,” Malfoy continued, bubbling a bit. Harry could hardly imagine Malfoy being happy for anyone but himself, but he seemed genuinely happy for these people. Harry wanted to know more.

“Wait, I’m lost. What do you do?” Not with MACUSA. Harry was dying to find out. He tried to beat the burning curiosity into submission, but it burned on. 

“I’m an actor,” Malfoy smiled, seeing something Harry couldn’t. Harry choked on his coffee.

“ _What?_ ” Harry stared at him, wide eyed.

An _actor._

“Yes, believe it or not, Potter. I act in Chicago, you know Broadway in Chicago? I was in New York visiting a friend who was in a show with me a few months back. She left after snagging a Broadway role, the talented bitch,” Malfoy laughed. Harry still couldn’t believe this. An actor? He was silent for a few moments, contemplating this information overload.

Well, Malfoy did have a propensity for the dramatics. Harry could recall a certain fainting routine from third year. Though, recalling that didn’t help his current confused situation much.

“I only left New York yesterday morning. I really shouldn’t have gone at all,” Malfoy looked a little embarrassed, like he couldn’t stop talking. “I’m opening a show in two weeks and we’re approaching hell week, which is the week before the show opens. It’s insane. Long rehearsals, running scenes and songs until they’re perfect, making sure every technical aspect runs precisely, on cue. It’s actually called tech week. But,” Malfoy sighed, smiling at the windshield, “if that’s what hell is, Satan can take me now.”

Harry finally dragged his gaze off of Malfoy. It was too much. His eyes were alight with a passion Harry had never seen in him before. He hadn’t ever thought Malfoy could look like that. The stark contrast between the rambling Malfoy, who could barely contain his passion from Harry, sitting next to him and the defeated one from a year ago was too much for Harry. His chest hurt.

“You really love it,” Harry whispered, unbelieving, almost jealous, he realized, of how easy Malfoy talked about something he loved. Something Harry didn’t have.

“Yeah. I’m the luckiest person alive. I can’t believe I get to be this happy after all that happened,” Harry’s eyes snapped to Malfoy, a little shocked at such a personal statement. Malfoy looked like he didn’t mean to reveal that last bit of info to Harry, like he couldn’t stop talking.

Malfoy turned up the radio after a few minutes of silence between them. It lasted for almost two hours as they each just thought. Harry stared out of the window the entire time. He couldn’t look at Malfoy.

He had hated him once. Despised him like no one else. The feeling was so strong that it kept him awake some nights. Harry shuddered inside. He couldn’t imagine feeling that towards the man sitting next to him right now. He couldn’t imagine feeling that towards anyone. He was too tired to feel something that strong.

And, for Merlin’s sake, this was bothering Harry so much. Why was Malfoy being so kind to _him?_ Why had he invited him along to go to Chicago? Where he _lived?_ It was so personal. But, then again, why did Harry accept the invitation? Oh my God he didn’t even think it through. He just hopped in the car. Harry felt uneasy.

~~~~~

Why did he do things like this? Draco kept sneaking glances at his passenger, who was determinedly staring out of where the window would be, pointedly not looking at him. Potter was either being a stubborn schoolboy, or he was just very lost in thought. He had that kind of dazed glaze over his features since Draco saw him the previous day. Maybe that’s why Draco invited him along. God, he didn’t even think. Well, he did, but only for maybe five minutes when he was pretending to look in Potter’s car? Why did he keep underthinking things?

Maybe he was just so used to overthinking things that he was overcompensating.

Draco snapped his gaze back to the road ahead. Okay, _now_ he was overthinking things.

Potter just seemed so dazed. Draco wanted to know why. Why was Potter here? What was he doing? Why did he look like a kicked puppy? Where were Granger and Weasel? Maybe that’s why he took Potter along. Draco cursed himself. He shouldn’t be so interested in Potter. It’s just that his curiosity was back. The one that tormented him during his early Hogwarts years before he was too concerned with more pressing issues. He missed it. Then he cursed himself for missing it.

He had told Potter what he was doing here (Immensely regretting getting so excited about his job in front of Harry bloody Potter) so Potter should tell him what he was doing here. It was only fair, not like he was interested in the Golden Boy or anything, he just wanted to know. Then after Potter stopped looking so miserable he would send him on his merry way and be done with it.

Yes, that’s what he would do. Just find out what was going on to satisfy the curious cat inside of him, then get him out.

With much difficulty, Draco brought his mind back to the show. He ran his lines over and over in his head to calm him down. It always worked, though this time with more difficulty. Eventually, after the third round of running his lines, Draco was back in his head. He realized he felt pretty stiff (probably from all the stress he invited into his car) and decided to pull over once more to stretch before having to deal with Chicago’s infamous traffic. It was a Sunday after all.

It wasn’t until the car was parked and turned off that Potter snapped out of whatever his thoughts were.

“Where are we?” He murmured, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Draco noticed Potter had updated to a slightly squarer frame. It was less hideous, though barely. He approved.

“Where do you think?” Draco asked back, taking this opportunity to bite. Potter rolled his eyes and got out of the car.

Draco took off towards the rest stop with Potter trailing slightly behind. Once inside, Potter fucked off somewhere without speaking a word to Draco. Whatever, Draco just needed to walk around a bit and clear his thoughts.

He ended up with a cup of possibly the worst tea he’s ever had after making some painful small talk wit the girl behind the counter. After a moment Potter materialized out of thin air.

“I’ll have a small coffee, with a little cream and extra sugar, please,” Potter smiled at the girl, who blushed at his accent. Malfoy supposed his accent had probably gone a bit American from acting in the accent for a year. He was slightly annoyed at the realization.

“Do I have an accent?’ Draco asked, turning to Potter, almost flinching after the fact. Why did he do this.

“What?” Potter looked at him, his face twisting into something like amusement.

“Like, do I still have my accent?” Eh, Draco might as well go with it. It was better than the two hours of contemplative silence.

“Kind of?” Potter replied. “You sound pretty American right now, you only sound properly posh when you insult someone.”

“What? Shove off, Potter,” Draco scoffed.

“There it is!” Potter laughed. _Laughed._ Draco felt weird.

Suddenly, a loud rumble broke the moment. It was such a hot two days Draco should have known this was coming.

“We’ve gotta run,” Draco said, turning to leave. Thunder only meant rain, and the damned top was down.

“See, you say things like ‘gotta’ now. The posh Draco Malfoy would never say that,” Potter remarked, almost excited.

“Will you drop it?” Draco snapped. Potter giggled, which made Draco somewhat uneasy. It was still too odd hearing that coming from Potter knowing that he made that sound happen. _He_ made Potter laugh.

The two made it outside just as the first drops began to fall. Draco ran to his car, Potter trotting beside him, and leaned in to roll up the top just in time as the downpour began. The interior only became a little damp in the time it took to roll up the windows. Potter and Draco, on the other hand, became soaked.

“Ha, we beat the rain!” Draco exclaimed, satisfied, as the two buckled in to leave.

“I would say that’s debatable,” said Potter seriously as he attempted to wipe off his glasses on his soaked hem. Draco laughed; this was pitiful. Potter got an odd look on his face, but it disappeared too quickly for Draco to really think about it. In a moment, they were back on the highway with the heat blasting.

Draco loved this feeling. It was warm and cozy inside this little car, while it was a different, grey stormy world just outside. And, he had a warm, though bitter, cup of tea to keep him going. The radio was playing softly and Draco absently hummed along as Potter continued to stare out of the window.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Definitely not ideal, Draco thought, but not bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently, I'm thinking one or two chapters a week will the the rate of posting. Any and all feedback is really appreciated, so if you have anything to say or suggest, I'm all ears!  
> Thank you for reading, and stay tuned! I have some great things planned for this fic ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing.  
> Thanks for reading! :)

Harry woke up to the sound of Malfoy cussing someone off, laying on the horn. He’d registered yelling and realized it wasn’t coming from the the Dursleys that had made another appearance in his dreams, and the honking wasn’t the pounding of his fists on his cupboard door. For the first time in probably ever, he felt relief at the sound of a yelling Malfoy, his hair coming more and more out of the pencil bun.

“What time is it?” Harry asked, rubbing at his eyes to both wake up and get the images out of his mind while stretching as best he could in the car seat.

“Shit, did I wake you?” Malfoy responded. “This arsehole just cut me off and I was just kindly reminding him how to drive. And it’s almost two in the afternoon, by the way.”

Harry realized with a start that corn fields were no longer stretching in the distance. Instead where massively tall buildings, wide grey sidewalks, and hundreds upon hundreds of people going every which way. The car bumped over a bridge, and Harry peered over to see a glimmering river dotted with boats. On the other side was a lovely square with a few statues and scattered about lay a few older looking buildings with breathtaking architecture. The street they were on broadened into a boulevard. Harry stared at shop after shop that lined either side.

“Woah,” Harry gawked, soaking it in.

“Welcome to the Northern part of Michigan Avenue, also known as the Magnificent Mile.” Malfoy said, yelling a bit over honking horns. “Now that you’re up, I can finally drop the top. It was a shame having it up after the storm cleared, but I didn’t want to wake your pretty little face.”

Harry didn’t know what the say to that. Once they were stuck at a traffic light (which didn’t take that long) Malfoy rolled the top down, letting the heat and sun in. Harry squinted up the the clear sky lined with skyscrapers. It was beautiful.

Harry took in the sights while Malfoy pulled some rather impressive driving maneuvers to wiggle his way onto another bustling street as they entered a short tunnel. Cars were almost bumper to bumper and Harry was pretty sure no one was following the speed limit.

Harry suddenly gasped as they emerged back into the day. Dominating the horizon with no end in sight was a dazzling body of water, dotted with every type of boat. There was a stretch of beach where it met the land, and between the street and the beach were trees and grassy alcoves, with sidewalks where people rode bikes, ran, walked dogs, and the such. It was breathtaking.

“Lake Michigan,” Malfoy said, glancing at Harry’s gawking face. Harry could hear satisfaction in his voice. The only time Harry had ever seen so much water in one place was back in sixth year, but Harry refrained to think of that.

To Harry’s left still were buildings stretching to the sky and back for miles. The contrast between the busy city buildings and the flat, calm lake was impressive.

After a little while, Malfoy veered right onto an exit ramp, and in a few minutes they were driving through a less grandeur part of the city Malfoy said was called Uptown. Slowly, Uptown opened up to a more residential area, skyscrapers replaced with building of only a few stories, blocks with trees and houses and gas stations. After some turns, you couldn’t tell that you were in a city at all. Narrow streets, cobblestone as well as pavement, formed blocks, all lined with gorgeous narrow brick houses and small apartments buildings. Trees lined the quaint front lawns where children played. Front porches lined every house, from where parents kept a watchful eye.

Eventually, Malfoy pulled in front of a lovely, narrow red brick house. On this block, just off a main street lined with little shops, restaurants, and bars, the different houses were only distinguishable by color, as there was no space between them. It reminded Harry of residential London. Across the street were houses of the same type. The front lawns were sunk slightly lower than the sidewalk, with trees dotted here and there. The block ended with a convenience store where a group of teenagers was smoking and laughing.

“This neighborhood is called Ravenswood,” Malfoy announced as the exited the car. Harry saw birds flying from tree to tree. A few children laughed as the ran up the sidewalk past them. An older woman was walking a beagle across the way.

“Oh, by the way,” began Malfoy cautiously as they entered the front door, which opened into a hall and a staircase leading upstairs. Harry realized the house was separated into apartments. “I have roommates, and they can be a little, er,” Malfoy screwed up his face, “ _eccentric._ ”

Harry followed Malfoy up the stairs and onto a landing with two doors, one to the left and the other to the right. Harry thought they’d enter into one of these, but Malfoy turned and went up a second flight of stairs which led to an identical landing, but with no third staircase. Malfoy unlocked the left door, labeled 3B, and Harry followed him in.

He was charmed immediately. The main living room was long and narrow, like everything else on the block, with old, scratched and faded wooden floors and exposed brick walls. The entrance was at the right end of the long, narrow bit, with the rest of the room stretching far to Harry’s left, The extreme left held a cozy looking breakfast nook with a round table and booth. Next to it was the kitchen, placed in a relatively large semicircle that was scooped out of the wall opposite Harry. A ledge with dark wooden panels separated the kitchen’s half circle from the main rectangular room.

The middle ground was occupied by multiple cozy chairs (all crazy, mismatching colors), a chocolate brown couch, and a coffee table. The squashy furnishings almost put the Gryffindor common room ones to shame. An oriental rug was placed among the furniture in front of a large telly on a shelving unit, which was currently switched onto some documentary show. The wall opposite that was lined with mismatching bookshelves overflowing with books, a swing out table, and other shelves that held picture frames and the like.. The area in front of the door had a welcome mat that read “Wipe Your Paws” and a cubby occupied by numerous shoes, with others strewn across the floor in front. Directly across from the entrance was a long hallway that turned left. Harry supposed it held the bedrooms and such.

The ceiling reached rather high with exposed pipes and rafters, from which plants of all types were hanging down above the living space. Harry noticed some books were stacked on the rafters where space ran out on the bookshelves, accessible by a shaky looking latter. The entire space was glowing with bright, warm, natural light from the large windows.

Harry was brought back to earth when he was almost knocked over by a sudden force, letting out a surprised yelp in the process of catching himself. His attacker, a large, smiling dog, now sat in front of him, gazing at him with beautiful, soft brown eyes. Her pointed ears were shot straight up and her tail was wagging furiously. Her coat was shiny and all black, and very soft, Harry noted, as he scratched her behind the ears.

“That’s Iago,” Malfoy laughed. “She’s Lacey’s dog.”

Harry noticed other movement from the couch. A girl’s head appeared over the back.

“Hey Draco, you’re back!” She smiled, bright lavender lips contrasting her dark skin, and raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Who’d you bring home this time?”

“Oni, this is Potter,” Malfoy replied with a warning glare, “Potter, Oni.”

“Harry, please, and hello,” Harry smiled at the girl.

“Oh! His accent is so cute!” Oni squealed with a clap of her hands (she had matching purple nails, Harry noticed) smiling wide. “No wonder you brought him home!”

“Oni, I did not _bring him home_ ,” Malfoy insisted. “Well, I guess I did technically, but not in that way. _Anyways,_ that’s not the point. He’s an old acquaintance and he’s only staying here for a little while until he figures out what he’s doing with his life.”

Harry didn’t have time to think about what Oni just implied (nor Malfoy’s rude comment) because another girl emerged from the kitchen, deep red hair tied high into a curly ponytail. She wore an apron that read ‘I Have No Idea What I’m Doing’.

“What’s going on?” she inquired, with the air of someone about to break up a fight. She did look rather intimidating, wielding a spoon dripping batter. “Oh, hi!” she strode forward, freckled face breaking into a smile. “I’m Lacey, and I guess your Harry With The Accent,” she took his hand and shook it earnestly.

“Er, yes,” Harry replied, somewhat taken aback by her forwardness. 

“Aw, look at his face!” She let go of Harry’s hand, placing hers on her hip, the other one still waving around the spoon. Harry smoothed his confused features back into what he hoped was nonchalance. Lacey’s blue gaze shifted playfully to Malfoy, who was currently busying himself by redoing his bun, avoiding her eyes.

“Please stop,” he begged, pencil between his teeth, cheeks pink. “Where’re the other two?” He asked as he twisted the pencil back into it’s place, clearing his throat.

“I think Ro said she was going to Mariano’s, and she probably dragged Devi with her, since you weren’t around to drag,” Lacey shrugged, returning to the kitchen. Iago followed her, claws clicking on the floor. Oni whipped her head back towards the telly, braids almost hitting Lacey on her way back.

“Aw,” Malfoy sighed. “Poor Devi, she’s gonna be livid.” Malfoy turned to Harry. “Well, come on, might as well show you the place.”

Malfoy started down the hallway, Harry on his heels. “This bathroom is Lacey, Devi, and Oni’s. They share it because they’re the messiest,” he said, banging on the closest door on the left, which was painted a crimson red. 

“Hey!” Oni shouted from the living room. “Did you hear what he said, Lacey?” Malfoy ignored them, though amusement shone in his eyes.

“This is Lacey and Devi’s bedroom,” he banged on the next door, a vibrant orange. Harry took a moment to inspect a hand-painted sign that hung from it. It had their names, and was decorated with a few paw prints and a pair of figure skates. The hallway turned to the left at a painting of a beach sunset. “This is Ro and Oni’s bedroom. Don’t ask me why they room together because they are polar opposites.” Malfoy gestured at the yellow door on the right (the sign on this one had a tube of lipstick and flowering vines to go with their names) which was wide open. Harry noticed one side of the room was clean and simple, with plants lining the shelf by the windowsill, while the other had clothes spread everywhere, the bed unkempt, with posters tacked on the wall. “The blue door on the left is my and Ro’s bathroom, and I recommend you use that one because it doesn’t look like a hurricane ripped through it, and the last door on the right is my bedroom. Any questions?” Malfoy finished turning to look at Harry. 

“Er,” Harry paused. He had about a million questions. “Where should I sleep?” was what he settled on.

“Well, I have an empty bed in my room, and you’re welcome to it,” Malfoy offered, pointedly avoiding Harry’s eyes. “Unless, that is, you want to sleep on the couch, but that’s Iago’s favorite spot and she doesn’t like sharing. I wouldn’t argue with those teeth.”

Harry laughed, and Malfoy returned his gaze, grey eyes warm, and smiled.

“Anyways,” Malfoy continued, opening the door to his room. Harry noticed his door was green, and his sign was decorated with the two drama masks and coffee stain rings. Harry wondered idly if they were painted on, or if mugs of coffee were actually set on the sign to make the effect. “Feel free to make yourself at home. The bed on the far wall is mine.”

Malfoy retreated down the hallway, leaving Harry to his room. Harry felt like he shouldn’t be here. It was much too personal, being in Malfoy’s bedroom. The ceiling was sloped, and the room had exposed brick wall like the main room, as well as wooden panels, which all gave it a cozy vibe. The bed on the far wall was on a slightly elevated level. The unmade bedspread was dark green and Harry chuckled to himself. You can take the boy out of Slytherin but you can’t take the Slytherin out of the boy.

Tacked to the walls were numerous posters. Harry recognized one of them as a musical, so he figured the others were as well. A few of them were signed. Across Malfoy’s bed was a bookshelf. Harry inspected it, nosy as he could be, and saw it held books muggle and wizarding alike. The unelevated portion of the room had an empty bed on the right, with a brighter, emerald green comforter and matching pillow. Across from that were a few shelves holding numerous items. Harry looked at the pictures framed there.

The largest frame was of a group. They posed in a large, empty room that held mirrors and bars mounted to the walls. Harry saw Malfoy in the middle of the group giving bunny ears to a girl in front of him. A young man with dark hair and skin was hugging Malfoy from behind. Harry felt a pang of something odd as he looked at how happy Malfoy was in the picture. After he took his eyes from Malfoy, he noticed Oni was there as well, standing two people away from Malfoy. A few other frames held candid photos of actors on stage. Malfoy was in a few of those as well. As Harry’s gaze swept over the last photo, he realized with a jolt he knew the other people in it.

It was of Malfoy, hair about half as long as it was now. He was smiling broadly with his arms around an amused Blaise Zabini to his left, and a giggling Pansy Parkinson to his right, all three in muggle attire in a still, muggle photo. Harry was transfixed for a moment before shaking himself out of it. He hadn’t seen Zabini nor Parkinson since before Malfoy’s trial, and was surprised to see them in this picture. He hadn’t considered Malfoy was still friends with them, then felt a little ashamed for assuming such a thing.

Harry turned back to the emerald green bed and dropped his duffel bag on it, not bothering to unpack. He left hurriedly back to the living room.

He came back to find Oni still curled up on the couch. Malfoy wasn’t in sight, and Harry didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“What the hell?” Oni exclaimed to the telly, eyes swarmed with confusion.

“What’re you watching?” He stepped next to the couch. He watched the documentary.

“ _Unsolved Mysteries_.” She answered, scooting to one side of the couch, inviting Harry to sit. He took the offer.

This couch actually _did_ put the Gryffindor common room couches to shame.

“What’s it about?” Harry asked, relaxing into the cushion.

“They don’t have it in England?” Oni looked surprised, and Harry shook his head. He didn’t know, exactly, given that he hadn’t watched television in years. “Well, they basically tell about all of these unsolved cases that happen across the country. Anything from abductions to murders, they have it. They show a few cases an episode, and sometimes a viewer helps solve a case and they update it. It’s really cool, though it can be fucking creepy sometimes,” Oni was smiling. She seemed like a chatty person. Harry watched some and began to see what Oni meant. It didn’t help that she commented on her thoughts regularly. She had some interesting ideas on the cases that just made the experience creepier.

After a few moments, Malfoy emerged from the kitchen with two cups of tea in one hand, and a cup of hot chocolate in the other. He handed the chocolate to Oni, who replied with an enthusiastic thank you, and offered Harry a cup of tea. Harry took it hesitantly, and gave Malfoy a wary look.

“Don’t look at me like I’m trying to poison you, Potter,” he warned, rolling his eyes with a head tilt for emphasis.

“Sorry, force of habit,” Harry replied. He gave it a try, and was surprised to find that it was made perfectly to his liking (no cream and plenty of sugar).

“Malfoy,” he shot Malfoy a suspicious glance, “how’d you know how I like my tea?”

“Er,” Malfoy blushed, “I remember from Hogwarts.”

Harry picked up on the unspoken implication as Malfoy sat in the flowery, light blue upholstered chair. He was about to comment, then remembered how Malfoy took his coffee black, something Harry also had picked up on from years of watching him at Hogwarts. He felt his cheeks go hot.

“Oni,” Malfoy began, changing the subject, “why are you watching this show. It’s so fucking _creepy_.”

“This is my favorite show,” Oni replied, as if she’d explained this to him many times before.

“But, why?” Malfoy replied, cup of tea nearly spilling as he spread his arms wide. “There are so many other things to watch. Non nightmare-inducing things. Do you enjoy not sleeping at night?”

“For the record, I sleep like a baby, you baby,” Oni replied. “This stuff is _cool_. Maybe I’ll even solve a case someday. You never know.”

“Unlikely,” Malfoy smiled into his cup.

“Have you seen those weirdos in 2A?” Oni said back with an air of wonder. “I guarantee they’ll be on this show someday, you mark my words. I’ll bet they’re responsible for the disappearance of Mrs. Crawford,” Oni’s eyes widened. “No one’s seen Mrs. Crawford in weeks.”

“What are you on about?” Malfoy retorted, Harry almost laughed at the poshness that was suddenly back in his voice. “We _just_ saw her outside walking her dog.” Malfoy shot Harry a glance, looking for confirmation. Harry found himself nodding.

Oni opened her mouth to reply, but whatever she was about to say was cut off as the door slammed open.

“-for the last time. We need an elevator,” a whinging voice carried from the entrance. The voice belonged to a girl with caramel skin, like Harry’s, but lighter, and long, flowing chocolate brown hair. She was followed in by a tall, slender girl with a fierce, dirty blonde pixie cut. Both girls carried armfuls of groceries and their cheeks shone pink with exhaustion.

“Draco!” The girl with the pixie hair exclaimed.

“And a stranger!” The chocolate haired girl exclaimed with the same inflection. Harry stood and hurried over, relieving the girls of some of their bags. “He has manners, too. Why don’t you have manners, Draco?”

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he said to them after sniggering at Malfoy, who came to help at the girl’s snipe.

“Devi,” replied the chocolate haired girl.

“And I’m Rosalinda, or just Ro if you haven’t got the time,” the pixie haired girl smiled, voice soft and airy. Harry helped them carry the bags to the ledge in the kitchen. Ro put away most of the items, and Malfoy helped while Devi bothered Malfoy about coming home so late because that meant _she_ had to go to the store instead of him because Ro just insisted someone come with her and she was the unlucky one to get picked.

“What did I say? Lacey, didn’t I saw this would happen?” Draco deadpanned, receiving a silent agreement from Lacey, who was setting a timer on the oven. Ro told Devi playfully to shut up, and it wasn’t like she was holding a gun to her head to go with. (“But you gave me those eyes of yours, how could I possibly say no?”) Iago left the bustling room and took Harry’s spot next to Oni, who was entranced by whatever creepy story was on now. Harry watched with a mix of curiosity and amusement at the scene unfolding before him as he sipped his tea, perfectly made by Malfoy, whose bun was beginning to come loose again.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Definitely not ideal, Harry thought, but not bad. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta, so I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes I may have made.  
> Some notes:  
> 1\. Ravenswood and Uptown are real neighborhoods of Chicago.  
> 2\. Not sure if they looked as described in 1999, but it's what they look like now so let's roll with it.  
> 3\. All of my descriptions are from memory so I apologize if they're slightly off to any locals who may be reading.  
> Thank you so much for reading! Remember any and all feedback is appreciated. Comments make my day. Chapter four is on the way! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience! Real life got in the way of my writing, which is why it was delayed, but here it is! :)

“So what brings you to our little home?” asked Lacey as they all lazed around after the dinner she had made, Draco sitting on the floor in front of the couch, where Oni and Lacy were curled up. Iago kept forcing herself onto Draco’s lap, and he surrendered after her third attempt. She was now drooling all over his favorite silk pajamas. Lacey had made a two wonderful homemade pizzas with homemade crust _and_ sauce and plenty of vegetables, cut into squares. Draco was a little suspicious. She rarely made dinner that delicious unless they were expecting guests.

Potter said a few bustling thank yous and gave her plenty of compliments as he ate it quickly, like someone was going to take it away at any minute. Lacey gladly gave him more, telling him how no one else appreciated her cooking so much. Draco was quick to point out that wasn’t true, but Lacey wasn’t having it. She always pampered guests like this.

“Er, well,” Potter looked away as he sipped his herbal tea. Draco was inclined to find out his reasoning as well.

“I wasn’t enjoying England as much, and I had a lot of problems there and people that I needed a break from, so I came to America. But, well, I left five days ago I think? I didn’t really think it through.”

“Not surprising,” Draco put in. Potter rolled his eyes from his position on the squashy maroon chair.

“I can’t even argue with that,” Potter replied. “I was just driving from New York with no place in mind when I ran into this one,” he gestured towards Draco, “who brought me here after my car broke down.”

“We were in school together,” Draco added. “To be honest, Potter, I was _not_ prepared to see you at all.”

“Yeah, what are the odds of that?” Devi put in. “I mean, what the actual hell?”

“It’s like the fates brought you two together,” Ro added airily.

“Um, no,” Draco was quick to reply, “we just happen to run into each other.”

“Definitely a coincidence,” Potter agreed. Ro shrugged.

“Damn,” Oni began, “you just left England on a _whim?_ I’m a little jealous. I mean how do you just _do that?_ ”

Draco snorted. “Potter can do whatever he wants. Always has.”

Potter opened his mouth to reply, but Draco cut him off.

“No, I don’t think I fully understand. You told me you dropped everything and left. What were you doing? I mean, I was under the impression you worked with the Ministry. They must be losing their shit right now.” The longer he went without knowing what was going on with Potter, the more it bothered him. Now, all the bubbling curiosity was finally spilling out. “Even if you didn’t work with them, they are still probably losing their shit. I’m sure Granger and Weasley are having an absolute field day right now trying to cover your tracks. Furthermore—What is it?”

Potter had screwed up his face, worry lines creasing his brow. Lord, he looked _guilty._

“That’s the thing,” he began, “they, er, don’t know I’m here.”

“Who?’

“Ron and Hermione.”

“ _What?_ ” Draco’s heart almost stopped. What? They have _no fucking idea?_

This can't happen, not with those three.

“I decided to leave the same day I left. When I said I dropped everything I mean I literally dropped everything. I told no one. Not even Ron and Hermione.” Draco’s chest hurt.

He stood and walked out of the room.

~~~~~

Harry stared at where Malfoy disappeared down the hallway.

“What just happened?” Devi demanded.

“I think I just fucked up,” Harry stood. “I don’t know why he’s acting like that. I don’t even know why he _cares._ ”

He left the girls and followed Malfoy down the hall. As he left, he heard the beginnings of gossip among the group, but he didn’t care. Harry already felt guilty enough. And he was planning on telling Ron and Hermione where he’d gone, but just not now. Later. 

Harry raised his hand to knock on Malfoy’s emerald door, but he paused. He felt the hum and prickle of magic emanating from the room. Confused, he pushed the door open just to walk straight into a ward, then straight through. It must be there to prevent any curious roommates.

And Harry saw why. Up on Malfoy’s raised level, across from his bed, he was muttering various spells and incantations onto his bookshelf, his wand drawing unique patterns around it. Harry shut the door behind him, feeling the ward snap it from his hands. Malfoy’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he worked. After a few moments of Harry watching in confusion, the bookshelf became brick, like the wall. The books stacked around the top to connect it to the ceiling. Harry realized it was a chimney as the front concaved into a hearth. Harry watched in amazement as the fireplace formed.

“Woah,” Harry said, breathless, “Malfoy that was seriously impressive. I didn’t know you could do that.”

Malfoy turned his gaze to Harry, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He looked as if he’d only just noticed Harry’s presence. His features became sheepish, if it was possible for a Malfoy to look that way.

“Oh, well,” he smoothed his features, clearing his throat, “I was top in the class in transfiguration, of course. Well, right behind Granger.”

“What’s this for?” Harry asked, stepping forward to get a better look at Malfoy’s handiwork.

“Are you really that thick?” Malfoy sniped, digging through his drawer. He emerged a moment later holding a small, cast iron box. At Harry’s confused look, he sighed. “It’s so you can floo your friends. Tell them where the fuck you are.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He couldn't believe Malfoy, of all people, was doing this.

“Close your mouth, Potter.”

“Why?”

“It’s unattractive.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry wasn’t in the mood, “why did you do this?”

Malfoy stared at him for almost a full minute, unreadable expression on his face.

“Potter,” Malfoy sighed, averting his gaze, sitting down on his bed. “I don’t think you know what you’re doing. Don’t you know how worried they must be?”

“Yes, Malfoy,” Harry snapped. Of course he fucking knew. “I know full well how worried they are. Don’t _you_ try to make me feel guilty about this—”

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” Malfoy whispered. Harry faltered. He had never heard Malfoy say something like that, so small. Not since his trial. He lifted his gaze back to Harry.

“I’m really not. God, they care about you so much, Potter. They love you so much that it hurts me to think about it.”

Harry felt strange. He sat down next to Malfoy on his bed, not trusting himself to stand.

“They need to know where you went, Potter. They needed to know this the day you left. They need to know it right now. Hell, isn’t it ridiculous that _I_ know where you are when Granger and Weasley don’t? I mean they must be worried sick.”

Harry felt sick.

“And the fact that I know where you are when they don’t just isn’t right. They are too important for this. I don’t want to think of how they must feel. I don’t want you to lose them because of this. You three are just too damn perfect for each other for this to be happening, okay?”

Harry nodded.

“So we are going to floo them right now and stop your nonsense before I have to deal with the consequences,” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, breaking the spell Harry felt he had been put under, like he suddenly realized who he was having a heart to heart with.

“Right,” Harry took the cast iron box to find it half full of floo powder. He stood up and walked over to the fireplace where he took a shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart. God, they really must be worried sick.

“Granger-Weasley Residence!” He shouted as he doused the empty hearth with the powder. A green fire roared to life, dancing in front of Harry. This was it.

He bowed his head into the flame, trying not to think of the fact Malfoy was sitting on his bed watching him.

A moment later, Harry found himself looking into Ron and Hermione’s living room. Harry didn’t even have to make his presence known. He heard Hermione’s socked feet running down the hall, another stab of guilt piercing his stomach.

“ _Harry!_ ” She shrieked, voice shrill, taut with so many emotions. “Oh Ron! _Ron, it’s Harry!_ ”

“Hermione,” Harry said, taken aback. He had been expecting a worried Hermione, but not like this. “I’ll be in in a moment,” Harry told her, expecting that she’d want to talk to more than just his head. Hermione nodded and Harry retreated from their hearth as he heard Ron pounding down the hallway as well.

Malfoy was watching him curiously, eyebrow raised. Oh Merlin, he looked _concerned_.

“I’d better go,” Harry said.

“Yes, I would say.”

Harry hastily flooed his way over giving Malfoy no further thought, finding himself dizzy on Ron and Hermione’s floor. He stood up quickly and didn’t even have time to brush himself off when he was engulfed in a forceful hug from Hermione. She was shaking.

From over her bushy hair he saw Ron standing in the living room, face twisted into a mix of worry and relief.

After a few long moments of Harry trying to comfort her, she pulled back, suddenly looking angry.

“What happened? Where were you? _Why didn’t you tell us?_ ” Hermione interrogated.

“It’s a long story,” Harry felt exhausted with guilt.

“We’ve got time, mate,” said Ron, thankfully calmer than his counterpart.

After an awkward hug with Ron, Harry found himself sitting in their spacious kitchen, brightly lit and decorated. The window here was charmed so that wizards who looked out saw a sunny ocean, though really it only showed their residential London neighborhood.

Harry stirred sugar into his tea, barely able to look at his best friends.

“Well, it’s not really a long story, I guess, just hard to, er, put into words,” Harry offered, lifting his gaze. At this point Hermione had calmed down to a mix of relief and concern, just like Ron. “I’ve been in the States since I left, so let's start there I think.”

“The States? Mate, I checked the portkey records at the Ministry,” Ron told him. Harry wasn’t sure Aurors could do that, but hey, why not? “There wasn’t one that was registered to America the day or days since you disappeared.”

“I actually went on an aeroplane, the muggle way.”

“Why?” Asked Ron at the same time Hermione asked, “So you couldn’t be tracked?”

Why, Harry thought. Why did he do that? He supposed, with a start, Hermione was right. He just wanted to be alone and away. Just _away._

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione’s eyes were filled with worry. “We know you’ve been feeling worse. We were just so worried. You just disappeared. No one knew where you were.”

“And we looked _everywhere_ ,” Ron added, exhasperated. “We thought you, maybe . . .” Ron trailed off, looking away.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Harry put his face in his hands, unbelieving that he let himself do this to them. “I’m so so sorry, you two.”

“We can’t say it’s okay,” Hermione began.

“Because it really was not cool, mate.”

“It wasn’t cool. But I’m just so happy to see you okay!” She lunged at Harry, who almost fell out of his chair as she hugged him again.

“Seriously, just don’t do that again please. I was ready to call on a full fledged investigation,” Harry looked at Ron as Hermione broke away. He was happy to see a lopsided smile that truly reached Ron’s eyes, though he knew he wasn't joking.

“I know,” Harry replied, “I know I was being a right prick by just leaving. I am sorry, and I know it’s not okay.”

“I’m just so happy _you’re_ okay,” Hermione repeated earnestly, Ron nodding.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and he meant it.

After the conversation had become a little lighter, it returned right back to Harry’s departure.

“So, America, huh?” Ron began, “Where did you go?”

“I flew to New York, which was really beautiful,” replied Harry. Honestly, he didn’t remember much of it because of what was happening inside of his head, but he did remember thinking that, at least. “And then I drove to Chicago,” which wasn’t a total lie. Harry didn’t think it’d be too polite of him to drop the Malfoy bomb on such an emotionally exhausting night. At least not yet.

“Oh I’ve always wanted to go to _both_ of those cities!” Hermione exclaimed. “The American wizarding history is fascinating! And, wow, you visited the two oldest wizarding cities in America! I would love to come over and see Chicago's sometime,” Hermione’s excited expression turned cautious. “Well, that is if . . .”

“Are you coming back to England?” Ron asked suddenly, picking up where Hermione trailed.

“Er . . .” Harry had not thought of it. Actually, he had not planned on it at all. Malfoy had only given him a place to stay that night and Harry had not planned on talking to Ron and Hermione for another few . . . days? He didn’t want to come back yet. His chest tightened as he thought about it. He couldn’t come back now. “Not yet. I think . . .”

Hermione gave him a knowing smile. “Take your time, Harry. But, please, visit us often.”

“And don’t stay away from home too long,” Ron added in, panicked. He smoothed his face at a subtle glance from his wife. “At least, er, as long as you need.”

“Thank you. I think a break like this will be . . . good. For me.”

“Just stay safe,” Hermione added, worried.

Harry thought back to his new crazy roommates, thinking maybe they could be a safety hazard. Devi at least always looked like she was ready to kill someone, Harry thought. Not to mention he was sharing a room with _Malfoy._ Harry laughed, maybe Malfoy would kill him first.

“What?” Hermione’s face twisted.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Harry hastened to say. He thought perhaps his laugh might have sounded cynical. “You just, er, made me think of someone.”

“Anyone we know?” Ron asked, raising his eyebrows.

While yes was the actual answer, Harry felt he had only just met Malfoy, thinking back on his flashy style and pencil bun. The fact that he is an actor, apparently. Other than his usual quips and sarcasm, Malfoy was actually nice, not anything like the Malfoy he knew. The Malfoy Ron and Hermione knew.

“No,” said Harry after a moment’s hesitation. Ron seemed to believe him but Hermione shot him an odd look.

“All right, then,” She said steadily, taking a long sip of tea.

The topic of conversation then drifted to Ron’s job. Kingsley offered him and Harry positions as trainee Aurors immediately. Harry declined quickly, after all, Kingsley had asked too soon. Ron accepted, and he’s finally coming to the end of his rigorous training. Harry put on a tight smile as Ron spoke of his new partner. It could have been Harry if Harry was not so indecisive about, well, everything. He just didn’t know what to do anymore. He hadn't felt like he had since Voldemort's fall.

Ron wanted to ask more questions of Harry’s whereabouts, but Hermione cut him off. Harry silently thanked her. Not only was he not ready at all to talk about how he felt, but he also was not ready to talk about Malfoy either.

After another few hugs and goodbyes and call-us-if-you-need-anything’s, Harry flooed back, landing heavily on the floor of Malfoy’s bedroom, thankful to be away from their worried glances.

Malfoy was laying back in his bed, legs stretching luxuriously over the duvet. He was holding a copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ , but his eyes weren't sweeping over the page. At Harry's unceremonious entrance, he perked up.

"Hey," he said softly, "how'd it go?"

"Er," Harry stammered. "Good?"

"Don't ask me," Malfoy smiled, raising an eyebrow, any air of concern vanishing. "So, they know where the fuck you are now?"

"Yeah," Harry stuffed his hands awkwardly in his pockets. "But, they don't know, um . . ."

"I'm your roommate?" Malfoy offered.

"Yeah."

"I suppose that might have caused some unnecessary emotions to arise. Especially, you know, considering the situation." Harry was a little taken aback at how smoothly Malfoy went with it. "Although," he continued, "I can't imagine what they'll think when they find out, especially after not being honest outright. I think you've found yourself another problem, Potter. They know where you are, but eventually they might find out who you're _with._ " There it is. Harry sighed.

"You know what, Malfoy?" Harry was tired, and a little over it all. "I don't really care right now."

"Oh?"

"No, I don't care. I'm done." Harry trudged over his bed, tripping over the step followed by a snigger from Malfoy, then collapsed face down on the duvet. Harry snuck a glance at Malfoy, who he was surprised to see was wearing a soft smile.

Harry was more surprised to realize that it was true. At this moment, he didn't care.

Harry turned his face back into the pillow.

"Wuh arya goinduh do abo da?" Harry asked his pillow, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the floo.

"What? Potter, the pillow isn't a microphone."

Harry rolled his eyes and raised his head from the pillow. "What are we going to do about that? I can't imagine either of us want to transfigure it back."

Malfoy creased his brow. "I guess we could just disillusion it for now so it looks like a bookshelf?"

"Sure," Harry agreed, waving his hand to cast a quick disillusionment charm. The fireplace rippled as if it water, before taking on the appearance of Malfoy's bookshelf. Harry dropped his head back into his pillow.

"Are you kidding me?" Malfoy exclaimed.

" _What?_ "

"Did you just? With no wand?" Harry lifted his head again to see Malfoy gaping at him.

"Oh," he said, "I guess so."

"He guesses so," Malfoy mimicked. "Potter, I must say I'm impressed."

Harry felt a little embarrassed, but it was nice to have Malfoy impressed with him instead of the other way around, like earlier. Instead of voicing this he gave a noncommittal grunt before he dug through his duffel bag to find some sort of pajamas.

He ended up finding a pair of joggers and a T-shirt that he hadn't worn yet, then left Malfoy to change in the bathroom.

The bathroom, just like it's door, was varying shades of blue. It was actually a little charming, despite being hideous at the same time. The blues were bright and vibrant, just like the flat and its occupants, with a few darker, navy lowlights. It was nice.

Harry returned a few minutes later to find the bedroom empty and the wards taken down. He heard voices trailing from the living room.

"—okay? You two just ran off!" Oni asked curiously. Yep, they had definitely been speculating.

"It was just a personal matter. He hadn't told some of his family where he disappeared to," Malfoy glanced over his shoulder as Harry turned the corner. He felt Malfoy's eyes sweep over him quickly before returning to Oni. "So, I took it upon myself to contact them."

"But how—" Lacey began quizzically.

"Anyways, let's just chill for now and, I don't know, put on a movie?" Malfoy cut her off, swiftly switching the topic.

"Oh!" Oni exclaimed. "I just bought some Alfred Hitchcock tapes. Can we?"

"We've been watching your creepy shit all day, Oni," Devi rolled her eyes.

"This isn't creepy! Well, I guess it is. but it's suspenseful-y creepy, and come on, Cary Grant is a total babe in _North by Northwest_! Eh, Draco?" She batted her eyelashes at Draco, who laughed, although turned a little red.

"Sure, let's watch whatever that is," he said, with a devious smile towards Devi.

"I'm up for whatever as long as it shuts you all up," Lacey laughed, Iago barked.

"I second that," Ro added in.

" _Yes!_ " Oni whooped, and ran into her room to get it. Devi slumped back rolling her eyes, but Harry noticed the edges of her mouth slanted slightly upwards.

The movie was actually really good, Harry thought, even though he couldn't follow the plot as well as Oni did. No one else really could either, by the looks on their faces. After the movie, Malfoy announced he was turning in because of an early rehearsal the next day (with a pointed glare at Oni), and Harry soon followed after a rather lengthy conversation with Lacey about the different breeds and mutts of dogs she's had over time.

Malfoy was curled up when Harry entered, long hair reflecting the white light of the moon, fanning out behind him. Harry stopped in his tracks at the sight. His eyes were closed and body relaxed. He looked so vulnerable, so normal, yet smaller. Almost fragile. Harry shook himself out of it, floorboards creaking on his way over to his bed, where he collapsed, exhausted, as Malfoy's eyes fluttered open.

"I wasn't asleep, Potter, so don't sound so guilty," he yawned after Harry apologized for waking him.

Harry gave a short tut as he rolled over in his bed. After trying not to think too much about Malfoy sleeping in the same room as him, he slowed his breathing, and waited for sleep to take him. He was just drifting off when Malfoy's voice broke the spell.

"Goodnight, Potter," he said, gently.

"Goodnight," Harry replied, a little startled. "Oh, and Malfoy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is in progress. I'm thinking this is gonna be a rather long fic y'all.  
> All feedback, kudos, and comments are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!  
> <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again for the wait and that this chapter is shorter (I needed to give you guys something!). I've been _so_ busy, but I'm getting a minor surgery in two days, so if I feel up to writing afterwards, I will have nothing else going on so hopefully the next chapter will be up soon!

Draco woke up early the next morning for rehearsal, alarm blaring in his face. He got up quickly to shut it off so he would not wake Potter. After casting a quick Silencio, he realized that Potter wasn’t there. The sheets and blanket were mussed up, and his glasses weren’t on the nightstand.

He looked at the clock, which read 6:00 and groaned. He was not up for being awake right now, so what the hell was Potter doing?

Draco got up and dug around in his drawers and closet blindly for rehearsal clothes, all the while wiping crust out of his eyes because everything is a little blurry at 6 in the morning. He debated whether or not he should shower, but decided it would be best to shower afterwards. He ended up throwing on a navy blue tank and black track pants before padding down the hallway, wrestling his hair into a tight bun with a hair tie.

The smell of frying eggs hit him at once as he turned the corner to find Potter in the kitchen fucking making breakfast. He had sizzling bacon and toast on a tray, charmed to stay hot and fresh, and was currently frying eggs. Draco’s jaw dropped.

Potter, who was humming, stopped after a moment, turning to Draco. “Mornin’,” he chirped.

“Good morning,” Draco replied. “Er, what is this?”

“Breakfast,” Potter said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know what you guys like so I figured to go with a classic. I hope it’s okay that I use the kitchen?” Potter added, nervously.

“No, no, that’s fine,” Draco replied.

Draco felt supremely awkward. No one ever really ate breakfast other than frozen waffles and coffee. No one was really a morning person, but Potter seemed quite chipper.

“I would’ve put on coffee, but I didn’t know where it was kept so,” Potter said.

“I got it,” Draco walked over and dug it out of the freezer, where it was kept to stay fresh, before putting on the eight pot. He stole a slice of bacon, and it was probably the best damn bacon he’d ever had.

“Potter, you’ve seriously outdone yourself,” Draco praised.

“It's nothing really, I’ve cooked since I was a kid so it’s kind of second nature, you know?” Draco didn’t, not fully understanding why Potter would cook as a kid, but he nodded along anyways.

“I need to go wake Oni. Lazy arse doesn’t even wake up with an alarm,” Draco rolled his eyes. Rehearsal started at eight today due to the fact it was two weeks before opening, so they were approaching crunch time. A few vocal numbers were still a little weak, and there was a dance number in need of serious help. Not to mention, the other lead was still having line troubles. Not Draco, of course.

“She does theatre as well?”

“Yeah,” Draco replied, smiling, “In fact, it’s because of her I live here. I saw one of her shows last year, and her performance was amazing. Since then, we’ve been friends. I guess you could say she helped me get into theatre in the first place,” Draco sighed. “But, it doesn’t change the fact she can’t get up in the morning for the life of her, so maybe that’s the real reason I’m here,” Draco rolled his eyes as he left Potter thinking in the kitchen. He got that contemplative look on his face like he had in his car.

Sure enough, he could hear Oni’s alarm through the door. He opened it slowly to find Oni dead asleep, snoring like a bear. Ro was still asleep, somehow. Maybe this is why they roomed together, because they were both dead to the world when they slept.

Draco rolled his eyes and shook Oni. It took her at least a minute to finally awake.

“Huh?” Oni opened her tired eyes, and blinked until she seemed to recognize Draco. “Oh shit!” Draco backed away quickly as she scrambled in her blankets before turning off the alarm. “I’ll be right out!” Draco left, laughing.

When he returned to the kitchen, Potter had finished the eggs, and had made three plates, the rest kept under a stasis charm to stay fresh. He offered one to Draco, who took it awkwardly.

“Er, thank you,” Draco offered. Potter smiled, and Draco had to look away.

He sat across from Potter in the breakfast nook after pouring himself a large cup of coffee in his favorite _Aida_ mug he’d gotten on Chicago’s opening night. Draco gave Potter some milk and sugar for his coffee, which he took in a _Lion King_ mug shaped like Simba’s head.

“So, what show are you in?” Potter asked suddenly.

“Oh, it’s called _Pippin,_ ” Draco replied.

“It sounds familiar, what’s it about?” Potter asked, green eyes large, curious.

“The plots a little odd, kind of hard to explain unless you watch it, you know?” Potter shrugged, but kept staring. “Okay, so basically the son of King Charlemagne, Pippin, wants to do something amazing with his life, he wants his life to mean something,” Draco begins. “So, he tries all of these different things to find meaning. He goes to war, he tries women, he tries becoming king, he tries art, but nothing ever works out and he’s just left feeling empty and vacant. Oh, and the entire time he’s being pushed along and influenced by a troupe of actors, led by a character called The Leading Player, who kind of represents the evil in everyone. Our show interprets him as the devil. In Act II he meets a woman, Catherine, who is hired by The Leading Player. But, she ends up actually falling in love with him. So, at the very end when Pippin leaves her because a life with love still isn’t enough, The Leading Player, whose goal is to destroy Pippin, tries to convince him to set himself on fire (I know it’s really out there) but Pippin drops out at the last minute to join Catherine for a normal life.”

“Huh?” Potter looked confused.

“You’ll get it, it’s a very odd musical, but it’s a lot of fun.”

“I agree,” said Oni, dragging around the corner. “What’s that smell?”

“Potter made us breakfast.”

“You’re _kidding_.” Oni disappeared into the kitchen, just as Potter sneakily removed the stasis charms, Draco noticed, emerging a moment later with the third plate and a slice of bacon in her mouth.

“Oh my _God_ ,” she mumbled through the bacon, “this is amazing. This is better than the Nug.”

“It’s a diner,” Draco clarified at Potter’s confused look.

“Oh, erm, thank you,” Potter blushed, and Draco had to drag his eyes away.

Oni scooted in forcibly next to Potter, who quickly moved aside. Draco was grateful for Oni’s presence. Her chattiness saved him from any awkward small talk with Potter. 

“And, Draco got one of the leads! He’s our Leading Player. I went for Fastrada, Pippin’s stepmother, but ended up as her understudy so I’m an extra in the chorus unless Leah gets sick or something.”

Potter gave Draco an impressed look, and Draco looked away. Really, this was too much.

Draco was only half-listening when Oni switched the topic to an explanation of the plot of _North By Northwest_ , but what she said next got his full attention.

“Oh, Harry, are you doing anything today?” She asked as she finished her last bite of egg.

“I wouldn’t even know what to do if I wanted to do something,” he replied, sipping his coffee over his empty plate. Draco’s only half through because he, unlike the others, eats like a person instead of like a starving dog.

“Want to come with us to rehearsal?” Oni was basically bubbling with excitement. It was a little overwhelming.

“Oni, is that even allowed?” Draco raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Why not? I’ve seen Bella bring her brother, Leah bring her friends, hell the M.D. brought his dog last week. We didn’t get a lot done that day.” She flicked her eyes at Potter, smiling.

“Sure,” he replied, “it’s not like I have anything else to do. Plus,” he turned his gaze to Draco, “I’m a little curious.”

“Awesome!” Oni exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Change into something danceable!”

At that, Oni stood and raced back to her room to change.

Draco and Potter exchanged glances.

“I’m dancing?” He looked only slightly panicked. “What did I just sign up for?”

“Hm,” Draco laughed, “this should be interesting.”

“I didn’t exactly bring dancing clothes with me.”

“You can borrow some of mine,” Draco offered, then immediately realized what he’d said and averted his gaze.

“Er, thanks,” Potter, replied.

Draco finished his breakfast quickly and went to find some clothes for Potter. He dug out a sporty black V-neck, and old pair of light sweat pants, and some old, stretched out jazz shoes, then threw them at Potter who was wolfing down seconds.

Draco was not prepared for how good Potter looked in his clothes when he changed moments later.

After Oni rejoined them, wearing a hot pink tank and jazz shorts, the three left, Draco hiding his blush the whole ride there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback makes my day :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait is over! Thanks for your patience with my life :)

Oni was a terrible driver. Originally Harry thought Malfoy’s driving was scary, but now he realized that that’s just how city driving is, and Malfoy was good at it. Oni, on the other hand . . .

“Motherfucker!” She growled as Malfoy sniggered from the middle seat in the back. Oni had insisted Harry take shotgun. Malfoy was oddly silent, turning his head away.

“Where did you get your driver's license? A gumball machine?” She yelled out of her window as she hit a curb. Malfoy burst out laughing.

“He had the right of way,” he said.

“Did I ask for your input, backseat driver?” Oni grumbled, finally pulling up and parking. They'd gone back down Michigan Avenue, then a little ways past a lovely building with two lion statues out front. Malfoy told Harry it was the Art Institute when he asked. They turned right once the buildings to the left opened into a beautiful park, going for a few blocks before finally stopping.

“I'm driving next time,” insisted Malfoy as they got out, weaving between the bustling crowd. They stood in a shadow cast by the buildings, but a block away the sun shone on a few green trees and an elevated train track, where a short silver train flashed by. Much different than London, Harry thought.

They walked up to a rather modern building and pushed through the heavy glass doors into a bright reception area. Malfoy and Oni waved the the lady at the front counter, who was reading a book, ignoring Harry. He followed them up a few flights of stairs down the corridor to the right.

“This is the warmup,” Oni said, heaving herself up the fifth flight.

They reached a narrow, carpeted hallway lined with doors labeled as practice rooms 501 to 520. At the very end of the corridor was black double door labeled Gershwin Rehearsal Hall. They were propped open with a stack of books. Harry heard various voices singing different bits of music, probably warmups. They entered the room, which was full of almost 20 people. The space was wide open, the floor smooth, black wood. Three of the four walls were entirely mirror. The fourth, back wall was just a window that shown the busy street below, with a bar attached. At the other end of the room was a small piano and CD player. This was the same room in the picture on Malfoy’s shelf, Harry realized. These were the same people.

All the people, Harry thought, looked very artsy. He was slightly intimidated and didn’t know what to do with his hands. Oni left Malfoy and Harry and joined a group of people by the piano.

“Hey,” a tall girl with light brown skin and long, straight fuchsia hair sidled up the them. “Welcome back, you ditcher.” She threw one arm across Malfoy’s shoulders, and leaned her whole body against him. “We missed you.”

“Get _off_ , Kimmy,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, ducking under her arm as two more people walked up. Harry recognized one as the man who was hugging Malfoy in the picture. Harry immediately didn’t like him very much, though he couldn’t imagine why.

“Draco’s returned to us!” he said, laughing.

“He lives!” the other man said, tall with messy red hair. He reminded Harry intensely of Ron.

“Yes, well, I was only in New York,” Draco smirked. “You guys missed out.”

“Did you bring this guy back with you?” the Ron look-alike asked, stretching his hand out. Harry took it and shook. “I’m Ron.”

“You’re _kidding!_ ” Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Sorry, you look exactly like my best mate, whose name is also Ron. It threw me off,” Harry recovered, only slightly stuttering, at Ron’s confused look, which turned humourous. 

“Now that, my friend, is weird,” he laughed.

“I literally thought the same thing when we met, to be honest,” Malfoy said to Ron, laughing. “I just had the good graces not to stare in shock, Potter,” he smirked.

“I’m Harry,” Harry said

“And I’m Devon,” the man from the picture said. Harry took his hand somewhat hesitantly. “Are you from England?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Nice. You remind of Draco when I first worked with him. He still had that adorable accent.”

“My accent is _not_ adorable, Devon,” Malfoy retorted. It had gone all posh again, but Harry was the only one to notice.

“Not anymore, now it’s just Chicagoan. _Northside._ ”

“Yeah, now Harry’s the foreigner with the adorable accent,” Kimmy said, hugging Harry from behind. She was a head taller than him. And a hugger. “Welcome to our cast.”

After that, a tall dark haired woman gathered the cast plus Harry, who stood awkwardly at the back.

“Okay guys, now that Draco has decided to join us again— _stop singing_.”

Harry was amused as the cast broke out into song—a verse that began with ‘join us’—and dance, including Malfoy. They immediately stopped at the choreographer’s dangerous look.

“Okay, that was my fault. Anyways, now that Draco’s here, we all agree that _Glory_ needs some serious help, yeah?” The cast murmured in agreement. “I think you should run through the vocals first with David, because those sucked too, then come see me and we’ll review and perfect this dance.”

Harry thought the lady was being rather harsh, but the cast cheerily made their way to the piano, where a man with crazy brown hair and a friendly smile sat. Harry followed Malfoy.

“Do you sing tenor or bass?” He whispered.

“What?”

“Tenor or bass? _High or low,_ Potter.”

“I don’t really sing.”

“Everyone sings. Let’s go with tenor, since that’s what I sing, so just stand by me and try to follow along. Plus you sound like you’d be a tenor, but you never know. I never would’ve guessed Ron was a bass.”

Harry felt slightly uneasy, but he was Gryffindor, right? Singing shouldn’t scare him, he vanquished Voldemort for Merlin’s sake.

David with the crazy hair shook Harry’s hand quite firmly and lent him a songbook to follow along.

“Actually, since we haven’t rehearsed this is in a while, I want everyone paying attention to their music, so use your books, but just this _once._ We don’t want to get too comfortable with books!” He smiled brightly. He liked him already.

Harry stood next to Malfoy, with Devon to his left. The heavier guy on Devon’s left introduced himself as Tom. Harry thought he was going to have trouble with all of these names.

As everyone found their place in the book, Malfoy turned to Harry, and showed him where he should sing. Everyone was rather cramped around the piano, so he stood close, shoulders brushing as he circled music lines with a pencil. Harry thought the music looked like ancient runes. He didn’t take Ancient Runes.

“You’ll be fine,” Malfoy laughed, smiling at Harry. “You look like a deer in headlights, Potter, calm down.”

“Okay,” David began, “let’s start with a quick warm up, then we’ll run the song through and fix what’s weak.” David hit four notes, saying “Basses, tenors, altos, sopranos,” between each one, and each grouped hummed the note given. Harry didn’t hum at ‘tenors’ and Malfoy elbowed him hard in the side. Harry hummed, trying to sound like the piano. What surprised him most is that he _did_ find the note, harmonizing with the other tenors. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“A-E-I-O-U!” David shouted, then began a playing a chord progression, the notes going up to I, then back down to U. Each round went higher. Harry was not prepared for this, and missed the first one. On the second, he somehow found the note again and tried to sing along. Finally, on the third time, he managed to stay with everyone, and kept going higher and higher, surprised each time. He was actually _singing!_

Eventually, it got so high that the basses had to drop out, laughing. Harry tried to hang on as long as he could, but soon the tenors, including him, started dropping out, too. It came down to Devon and Draco, and Harry laughed when he noticed that they were staring each other down, like a competition. Who could go the highest?

Soon, Devon began to sound a little strained, and Draco smirked. The next round, Devon dropped out, cursing, but laughing. Draco kept going a few more chords, voice strong and light. Harry tried to pick it out amongst the girls, but they were loud. Finally, a group of girls that included Oni dropped (Draco called them ‘altos’) and the last group (with Kimmy) kept going until it was impressively high. Harry felt intimidated.

When the last two girls dropped at the same time, David laughed. “Nice job, guys. You can _drop the damn octave_ you know, instead of dropping out. So just do that next time instead, but for now let’s start _Glory_. Ready, Draco?”

“I’m on the right track, David,” Malfoy replied flatly. A few people groaned, and the rest laughed or rolled their eyes (including David). Harry supposed this was an in joke or something.

“Okay then, let’s go.”

David played a short intro, to which Malfoy chanted, “Battles, barbarous and bloody,” confidently.

After another few measures of music, David hit a strong chord, and Malfoy sang.

“ _Glory! Glory!_ ” Malfoy belted, high and strong, holding each ‘glory’ long. Harry refrained from gasping, but only just. Merlin, it was beautiful. “ _Glory! Glory!_ ” Malfoy repeated, the last Glory the highest and strongest, and he added a little flare to the end. At that, some of the cast whistled. Okay, so it was normal to be this impressed. Malfoy rolled his eyes at the whistles.

“ _Praise be to Charles, our Lo-ord. Tri-i-um-phant is his sword. Allegiance is his wo-ord!_ ” Malfoy sang, lower this time, evil, menacing. Adding his own little twists and flares. Harry was floored, and felt something odd flutter in his stomach. Malfoy kept singing, Harry trying not to stare, but failed. Malfoy was like a well-oiled machine. His jaw and mouth moved in beautiful ways in order to produce the sound. His head tilted slightly up on the higher notes, making his neck stretch, long and elegant. It was beautiful.

At some point, Harry was startled out of the trance by everyone yelling “ _Steel!_ ” at once. He found his place in the book, now familiar with the song’s cadence, and tried to sing along when the group joined in. He thought he was okay, but he wasn’t completely sure. He saw some of the girls plug one ear, trying to hear themselves. Harry tried that, finding his own voice become clearer to him. He fixed himself (because his was off a bit) and tried again. The music was impossible to read, so he just focused on the words and reluctantly on Devon to find the notes. 

“Sing to your teeth,” Devon whispered to him as Malfoy began another line. 

"What?” 

"It sounds weird, but when you sing, try to aim your voice to the back of your teeth. If you do it right you’ll feel the vibrations in your face. It’ll help.” Devon gave Harry a smile, which looked sincere. He was trying to help Harry. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Why did Harry even think so in the first place? 

Harry tried to follow Devon’s advice, but it was difficult to aim your voice anywhere. What did that even mean, aim your voice? Harry tried to imagine his voice was like a spell, and the sound was like channeling magic. All you have to do is channel it at your target, the back of his teeth . . . 

And suddenly, it clicked. Harry felt the vibrations and his voice gained some body. He looked over to Devon, who was giving him two thumbs up as they sang. His gaze shifted to Malfoy, who offered a slight smile as he sang, eyes bright. Harry felt his stomach flutter once more. 

~~~~~ 

Potter could sing. Draco was having a tough time concentrating on what he was supposed to be doing, because all he could hear was Potter’s voice replying in his mind. 

“Draco, that was sloppy and your foot was flexed,” Ms. Annika scolded, stopping the backing track. “ _Focus!_ ” 

They had moved away from singing and were now rehearsing the dance. Potter could sing, but his dancing skills were average. They were not bad, per se, but he was dancing with professionals. While this was only his first year applying his practice, Draco had always practiced some form of dancing, whether it be ballroom or ballet, since was five. And he was flexible, so that helped. 

Today, Draco just felt like he was running through the motions. 

Ms. Annika started the verse from the beginning. Draco sang, did his jumps, leaps, and choreography to the music, very jazzy. Normally he would be almost totally into it (he could never be fully into it in the rehearsal room. That came when he was on an actual stage, in front of an audience) but he could practically cut through Potter’s stare with a knife. He could actually feel Potter’s magic on him, comforting, like a hot mug of tea. Or a flea. Draco wanted to look back, but he refused to give in. It was distracting. 

They made it through the song, with only a few stern looks from Ms. Annika. 

~~~~~ 

Harry was exhausted. After _Glory_ , they had run five more numbers. They hadn’t gotten out of the rehearsal hall until six, with Ms. Annika scoffing and correcting (she had even corrected Harry, multiple time. Dancing was _hard_ ) and David praising and helping. Malfoy was an immense help to Harry, helping him correct his mistakes before Ms. Annika could, all soft touches and smiles. 

"Potter, you have to roll your hips back. That’s bad posture.” 

"What does that mean? You guys are not speaking English, I swear.” 

"Here,” Malfoy stood in front of Harry, and placed a gentle hand on his lower back. “Like _this_. Pull in your stomach.” Harry did, and followed Malfoy until his posture was impossible straight. “The core is the base of all dance. Without a strong core, your tailbone isn’t tucked, your shoulder not square, your head not level, which messes up your jumps and form, and just everything. It starts with the core, Potter. Think of it as a wand, you need a strong core or the magic doesn’t happen.” Malfoy was standing much too close for Harry. He smelled like lemongrass and coffee. 

Malfoy’s hand was still of Harry’s back. Harry couldn’t focus until he slowly dropped it when Ms. Annika walked by. 

"Good posture, Harry,” she said, passingly. Malfoy smiled. 

"See?” 

But now, Harry staggered into the shower, his muscles screaming in relief as the hot water hit them. Climbing the stairs was a feat, and Malfoy and Oni’s laughing at him didn’t make it any easier. 

Malfoy’s soap smelled like lemongrass and peppermint. It was nice. Comforting. 

Afterwards, Harry climbed into his last remaining clean outfit. He sighed, figuring maybe he ought to visit his flat for a few things. 

Malfoy was curled up reading on the couch with Iago, his hand resting on her belly. Ro and Lacey weren’t in. Devi was on her laptop in the breakfast nook. 

“Malfoy? Can you come here for a moment?” Harry asked. Malfoy startled out of whatever he was reading and looked at Harry. 

“Oh, yeah,” he stood (much to Iago’s dismay) and followed Harry back to their room, out of Devi’s earshot. 

“Is it okay if I use the floo? I need to get some more things from my flat.” 

Malfoy gave him a flat look. “Of course, you don’t need to ask. You put up the disillusionment charm, anyways.” With that, he was gone. 

That was a little odd, Harry thought. Malfoy was acting fine a few moments ago, hell, grabbing Harry’s back a few hours ago. Why was he suddenly being cold? He decided to brush it off, and flooed to his flat where he quickly stuffed most of his clothes, a razor, his own shampoo, and the likes into a bag. He was digging around in the back of his closet for his favorite Weasley sweater when a small black box caught his eye. 

Harry grabbed it, and sat back cross-legged on his floor, carefully opening it. There rested a hawthorn wand. Ten inches. Unicorn hair. _Malfoy’s wand._

Harry ran his fingers gently over the smooth wood, feeling it’s magic react positively to his touch. Maybe it was time to return it. But, shouldn’t he have done this earlier? Would Malfoy be upset? He _was_ acting strangely. 

Harry sighed loudly, snapping the case shut before throwing it in the bag and flooing back, resetting the disillusionment charm. He left his old flat vacant without a second glance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I am writing this with the original 1972 version of Pippin in mind with the amazing Ben Vereen as Leading Player. So be sure to listen to that soundtrack, not the 2013 remake, if you want an idea of what Draco is singing.  
> 2\. While Draco is playing the Leading Player, I imagine his voice sounds more like John Rubenstein's (Pippin on the original soundtrack) or even Ben Platt (Dear Evan Hansen) but his dancing is more like Ben Vereen's. You can find videos of Ben Vereen's performances as Leading Player in Pippin on YouTube, including Glory (:  
> 3\. I'm a massive theatre nerd.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Many more chapters are on the way. Your comments and feedback make me happy (:


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE'RE BACK!!!!!

The next morning, Malfoy had returned to normal. He spent the rest of the night snapping at everyone with a permanent scowl and a crease in his forehead. In the following days, the girls went about their business, leaving and coming home at different times. Malfoy and Oni always arrived later in the evening, exhausted. A few days after Harry’s one rehearsal, Harry awoke bright and early again. This was a habit he assumed came from living with the Dursleys and cooking their breakfast each morning, but he did not mind it so much. It gave him time to think. After the initial breakfast, the girls had given Harry complete access to anything in the kitchen so long as he promised whatever he used would become something delicious. So, this morning, Harry set to work on finding the ingredients to muffins, something a little easier and more fun.

While he whisked and stirred and measured, Harry’s mind wandered back to that night after rehearsal. It was odd how Malfoy’s demeanor had changed so drastically after arriving back home. He had been feeling Harry up in dance two hours previous, saving him from Ms. Annika’s death glares, smiling at him all while Harry appreciated the beautiful lines of Malfoy’s dancing. It was his dancing he appreciated, he quickly told himself. Dancing was an art to be looked at, stared at, and appreciated. He certainly wasn’t staring at Malfoy for three hours.

And where was he going with this? Right, Malfoy was being nice, and then he wasn’t. Very quickly. God, Harry was confused.

And now Malfoy’s wand was still tucked in Harry’s things under Harry’s bed. Which was next to Malfoy’s bed in Malfoy’s room. When did Harry’s life stop making any sense. Harry slammed the oven door shut with perhaps more force than necessary.

“Woah, good morning to you to,” Harry rubbed his eyes as he watched the man of the morning saunter over. “What did the oven ever do to you?”

“Yeah, it’s not the oven,” Harry replied behind a yawn.

“Something got your knickers in a twist, Potter?”

_You._

Harry looked at Malfoy then. His hair wasn’t up, but instead swept neatly back, falling to his shoulders with only the slightest bit of bed head. He looked like he was wearing a halo and Harry did not appreciate the feeling it gave his stomach. Malfoy’s eyes weren’t shining like usual and circles were present ever so slightly beneath them. He had the slightest bit of stubble threatening his jawline.

“You look tired,” Harry replied.

“Why, I am ever so flattered you let my appearance twist your knickers, Potter,” Malfoy swept past Harry to peak inside the oven doors before Harry could process what Malfoy just said in his tired state. “What’s this?”

“The ones on the left are blueberry and the ones on the right are banana walnut.”

“Wow, and to think I ever underestimated your abilities. Banana walnut’s my favorite.”

Harry hadn’t seen much of Malfoy, despite sleeping next to him, since he got here, what with rehearsals and everything. A bit in the morning, a bit at night, and that was that.

Malfoy left with Oni an hour or so later, only after Oni had eaten four muffins and Malfoy tsked. Harry cleaned his mess in the kitchen, finishing up just as Devi walked into the living room, a pattern he’d realized happened each morning. Malfoy and Oni would leave, Devi woke up. After she left to who knows where, Lacey and Iago would wake up and leave for a run before Lacey went to class. By then, Ro was up, flowery and graceful. She’d chat with Harry for a while while she worked at the breakfast nook. Sometimes she’d leave for a few hours before returning.

“Hey,” Devi said, grabbing Harry’s attention.

“Morning,” he replied, “muffin?”

“Hell yeah,” Devi selected a blueberry one and took a huge bite off the top, then smiled. Harry realized it was the first time he’d seen her smile. It was really quite catching. “Harry, these are fucking so good.”

Harry returned the smile. Per usual, she was wearing sporty looking leggings, trainers, an orange tank with a warm up jacket tied around her waist, despite it being the heat of hell outside. She had what looked like a mini suitcase. 

“Where do you go every morning?”

“Ice rink. I figure skate.”

“You can do that for a living?”

“Only if you’re good.”

“I’ve never really seen figure skating before,” Harry realized. He did remember catching glimpses of it on the telly once when the muggle Olympics were on, the Dursleys tsking at the the taste of the skating outfits, making fun of the flamboyant men.

“Are you doing anything today?”

“Haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You can come watch, if you want. It’s a little boring, I think, just watching, but it’s better than having Lacey’s dog drool on you all day.”

Harry agreed, though he did rather like Iago, and joined Devi after grabbing a jumper at her suggestion. This was a room full of ice, after all.

They took public transport there, which Harry thought was more nightmarish than London’s muggle transport. He wished he could just apparate them over. However, Devi did have a lot of snarky things to say about pretty much everything. It was rather entertaining. Her snark reminded him heavily of Malfoy’s, and Harry considered that the two would be good for each other with their matching personalities. Harry immediately regretted the thought.

The ice rink was freezing, as Devi warned, and Harry was thankful for the jumper. He took a seat low in the stands and Devi smirked more than smiled at him and waved as she skated past with alarming speed. She turned around and skated backwards in a skillful manner, holding the edge of the blade and extending her other leg high behind her. It was incredibly graceful. Harry watched as she warmed up, practicing fancy footwork on the blades. Harry was not ready when she skated by again, backwards, and launched into a jump, spinning too fast to count how many times in the air before landing beautifully on a one foot glide backwards. Harry gasped. 

Although Devi was more graceful on the ice than Harry ever thought she could be off the ice, he could not prevent his mind from wandering to dance rehearsal. Malfoy was graceful, too, through his art. His dancing was a spectacle to behold. As Harry watched Devi split leap in the air, he thought of Malfoy repeating a similar motion. Harry replayed in his mind over and over the way Malfoy had skipped and leapt into the air, toes pointed and legs spread in a split before he landed soundlessly on the dance floor, going into a jazz sequence easily. The way he could pirouette three times in a row, core tight, between verses in a dance number. In _Glory_ he had used a cane as a prop and Harry kept thinking of the things he did with it. All the time he could feel Malfoy’s hand brush the small of his back, hear Malfoy’s laugh, full and loud nowadays, instead of mean and spiteful like he thought he knew.

It was just so different than the Malfoy Harry knew, is all. It was the same Malfoy, sarcastic, witty, mean, but toned down. Softer around the edges. Friendly. And considering that rehearsal was all he had really seen of Malfoy in the past few days, it was still much too fresh in his mind.

He did not even realize Devi was asking him a question until she kicked him in the shin with her skateguard.

“Hey, ouch!”

“Where are you?”

“What?”

“Nevermind. I told you it’d be boring.”

“No, you were amazing. Those jumps. Like, how do you land? The blade in so thin. I don’t understand.”

“You’re adorable,” she replied without smiling. Yeah, definitely more graceful on the ice. 

 

~~~~~

 

Draco told Oni not to eat four muffins. He really did. Yet, here he was, holding her hair back as she was sick in the bin of the rehearsal studio. He told her that again as she came up for air.

“Fuck you,” she said, moaning. The director sent her home, and Draco went with since he was her ride. They arrived back at the flat shortly after, Oni basically crawling to her room.

“You guys are home early,” Ro observed from her perch in the breakfast nook, surrounded by a laptop and countless papers and pens.

“Yeah, well, someone decided four muffins and nothing else before intensive dance rehearsal was a good idea.”

“To be fair, they were really good muffins.”

“Were? Are there any left?”

“No.”

“Pigs. I’m surrounded by pigs.”

“Don’t go sulking about now.”

“I do not _sulk_. What are you on about?”

“I don’t know, you’ve been on and off moody for the past few days. Especially after you brought Harry to rehearsal. It was like that night a few months ago right before you stopped crushing on Devon, but like, worse.”

“I never fancied Devon!” Malfoy said perhaps too defensively, kicking a shoe into the stupid cubby.

“Keep telling yourself that, distract from your new obsession.”

“My new obsession,” Draco deadpanned.

“Or your old obsession, I don’t know, you did go to school together, after all.”

Draco was about to retort when the door opened behind him, knocking him in the head.

“Hey!”

“Oh, what are you doing here?” Devi sauntered in, poking him in the side, followed by Potter.

“Did you drag Potter to rehearsal?” He turned to Potter, “She didn’t threaten you, did she?”

“He came on his own volition you ass. Did you just called my practice ‘rehearsal?’ Why are you even here?”

“No, I did not, and Oni got sick and I’m her ride, so here I am.”

“Finally got an afternoon off then?” Ro commented.

“It seems like it.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to Potter, who quickly looked away as if he’d been staring.

“What have you been doing?”

“What?”

“Other then letting Devi drag you to her frozen wasteland.”

“Oh, erm, nothing really. Organzing some things back in England, but that’s it, really.”

Draco, despite himself, was a little frustrated at his job for the first time in a while. All of this time at the studio with Harry bloody Potter stuck in his flat did not seem very fair, especially since he brought Potter here in the first place.

“Let’s go,” Draco said, retrieving his trainers. “You haven’t been downtown, yeah?”

Harry looked frantically at Ro, then Devi. Devi rolled her eyes and Ro smiled behind her laptop.

“No?”

“Come on, I’ll show you the sights.”

 

~~~~~

 

An hour later, after some bad traffic and parking garage searching, Harry found himself standing beside Malfoy, still fully and distractingly in rehearsal gear, on a busy sidewalk outside said parking garage. The people bustled about around them and cars honked bumper to bumper down the wide boulevard. The buildings stretched so high the sweltering sun was blocked on on the opposite side of the street.

“Okay, so generally people who have never been to Chicago before will go to Navy Pier or some shit like that, but honestly a lot of the touristy stuff is really boring,” Malfoy said as he started down the street, Harry right behind. “So I thought we’d just walk around Michigan Avenue. It’s touristy enough and people-watching there is the best. Oh, we could go to Oak Street Beach. It’s nice enough.”

Harry didn’t know what any of this meant, so he just nodded. He was a bit distracted by Malfoy wrestling his hair into a high bun.

Together they walked down the busy side walk, nearly getting hit by cars as they crossed roads. Malfoy turned here or there, and kept on a near constant stream of commentary on their surroundings. He would point out various streets or statues or towers and give Harry a brief history of them. He told Harry about some of the shows playing at theatres they passed and people he knew in the cast, followed by gossip about them. The way he lit up at each of these locations was all too endearing, a word Harry never wanted to think of paired with Malfoy ever again. Eventually, they reached the North end of Michigan Avenue. Harry recognized it as the street they’d gone down a few days prior when he had first driven in. Malfoy brought him under a musty tunnel, and at the other end Harry was faced with that never ending body of water Malfoy called Lake Michigan.

“Woah,” he said, again.

“I know.”

In front of the lake was a lovely stretch of beach, dotted with blankets and umbrellas. Children ran amok, building and knocking over sandcastles, wrestling in the water, while parents watched from their shaded blankets and chairs. It was a very odd place to see a beach, with its beautiful view of the skyline present opposite the lake. 

“Wanna go test out the water?” Malfoy asked.

“Is it cold?” Harry asked.

“I’ll let you find out,” Malfoy dared. They took off their socks and shoes and set them under a tree for safekeeping.

The unlikely duo stepped onto the sand together, not entirely prepared. The sand had been baking in the sun all day and was scorching. Malfoy let out an undignified scream, and Harry laughed, despite wanting to let one out himself.

“Fuck you, I always forget how bloody hot it is,” Malfoy shouted at the disapporving looks from nearby parents as they ran across the lava sand, laughing and cursing the whole way. Harry couldn’t help himself from thinking of the oddness of the situation, but he felt another emotion, too, one he hadn’t felt in a while. He felt free and happy, messing around on the beach with Malfoy, of all people. It was really rather nice.

After a few fun, yet agonizing, moments, they reached the water, which was refreshing on for approximately half a second.

“Fuck, it’s _freezing!_ ” Harry exclaimed

“It’s not that bad,” Malfoy laughed.

“It’s _freezing!_ ”

“Don’t you want to go for a swim, Potter?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"I am fully clothed, Malfoy, this isn’t exactly swimwear is it?”

“Anything is swim wear if you believe it is.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry retorted. Malfoy backed away, slowly, further into the lake, despite his trousers getting wet.

“Scared, Potter?”

“What is your dance stuff even made of?” Harry had a sudden idea.

Malfoy gave him a confused look. “I don’t know, spandex?”

"That’s close enough to swimwear anyway.” Harry said evilly, and before he thought it through, he lunged forward and pushed Malfoy square in the chest. Malfoy screamed again and went down with a huge splash.

Harry was only given a moment of triumph before he realized his mistake. The lake’s sand underfoot did not give a very good grip, and he had pushed rather hard. Before he knew it, he submerged in the water, too, right on top of Malfoy.

The water was like ice, and a huge shock to Harry’s body. In the water, he felt Malfoy’s hands push him back up above water until they were both sitting in the shallow end of the lake, shivering. Malfoy looked furious.

“You absolute arse, Potter!” He yelled, before his scowl broke into a laugh. “You _arse!_ Oh God! Merlin! Circe!”

“It’s freezing!” Harry yelled again, teeth chattering, searching frantically for his glasses, which flew off in the process.

“It’s not that bad after the shock, and it’s your fault anyway! You’re little plan backfired,” Malfoy laughed.

“Will you help me here? I can’t fucking see!”

Malfoy, still laughing, helped Harry scan the water for the missing glasses. After a few moments, Malfoy found them with a triumphant yell.

“Gee, thanks,” Harry deadpanned, slipping them on.

Harry had some snarky retort ready, but it died on his lips as he saw Malfoy clearly, now. Malfoy’s hair had come loose in the process, and now in lay soaked and dripping wet across his shoulders, a strand lay ignored in front of face. In the cold, blood rushed to his cheeks, giving them a gorgeous blush, which spread to his neck. His smile lit up his eyes, which shone bright behind the loose strand of whiteblond hair. Harry was utterly speechless.

“Let’s get out of here,” Malfoy laughed, breaking the gaze, “it’s bloody frigid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of time it took me to update was pathetic, I know. But now it is summer and I have free time again!!  
> Kudos and comments make my day and inspire this story, thank you for reading <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys and your comments, I thrive on them. Y'all are too sweet <3

After spelling themselves dry behind a tree, Draco took Potter down the Magnificent Mile to show him what real fashion looked like (“I mean look at what you’re wearing. Cargo shorts? You’d think being the Savior of the Wizarding World would have smartened you up”) Potter did not listen.

“See, isn’t this nice?” Draco gestured to a brightly colored outfit in the window of an expensive looking shop.

“It’s too colorful,” Potter had ignorantly replied. “I’d look like a circus.”

“Bright colors are in right now, have you no sense?”

“More sense than the fashion world, apparently.”

“Shameful,” Draco rolled his eyes.

After that, Draco had loudly rated random people they passed on their fashion sense to give Potter a clue, even though it was obvious he wasn’t listening. After looping around the Magnificent Mile, the two had gathered quite an appetite. Draco took Potter to Gino’s East to show him Chicago’s famous pizza.

“You can’t go to Chicago without trying the deep dish,” he explained as they sat down. Draco loved Gino’s. It was where Oni took him the night he moved in, lost and confused and desperate. Oni told him all about her world of theatre in this restaurant, and Draco felt the uneasiness drain with every word. He told her parts of his life, what he could without giving too much away, and Oni had given him more peace than he had in a while. That night she invited him to spend the night, and he never left.

“I didn’t know Draco Malfoy liked pizza,” Potter replied jokingly.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Draco remarked. He meant to return the joking manner, but Potter gave him an unreadable look.

“I guess I’ve never had the chance to learn.”

So we’re being honest now, Draco thought. He rolled with it.

“You have a chance now.”

“I thought I would never see you again, after, you know, the trials? I can’t stop thinking how weird this is,” Potter gestured the space between them awkwardly.

“You’re not the only one. I moved here to get away from England and everything that came with it, but that everything decided to follow me.”

“I wasn’t _following you_.”

“Could have fooled me. You are rather good at it,” Draco raised an eyebrow, thinking back to sixth year. That entire year was a blur, if he was being honest, he just remembered seeing way too much of Potter.

At that moment, the waiter arrived, pausing their conversation. Draco ordered his favorite for both of them.

“Not following me, then what are you up to?” Draco figured Potter wanted to get away from England. He knew the feeling well. After all, he’d done the same thing. But, Potter had more friends and support then he would ever have.

“I told you already I left on a whim, Ron and Hermione didn’t even know,” Potter sighed. “I just got so sick of it all, yeah? I couldn’t go anywhere wizarding without people losing their shit. Flashing cameras, people fainting, people touching me without asking. There was an uproar everywhere I went. I was offered a job as an auror, but I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything but stay at home. Ron and Hermione were the only people I talked to. I couldn’t do it anymore, so I didn’t. And I didn’t tell anyone. When I went to talk to Ron and Hermione they were so worried, they thought that I--” Potter stopped abruptly. He looked utterly miserable. Draco stayed silent. “God, I’m pretty awful, aren’t I?”

Draco took a moment to think this through. He never thought that the Poster Boy of the Wizarding World could feel like that. Draco felt rather bad for Weasley and Granger, despite his best efforts not to. Those three were family, and Draco knew a thing or two about family and friends walking out on you. It was awful to put them through that, despite how he felt about the pair, but Draco understood Potter. Draco understood so well that it almost hurt, because he had felt like that, too. He couldn’t do anything or go anywhere in England, so he left.

“No, you’re not awful,” Draco said, quiet. “Was it kind of shitty to do to your friends? Absolutely, but you’re not awful, Potter. You’re probably the least terrible person I know,” Draco said without thinking. His heart skipped a beat when he realized his confession, but it was true, so he kept going. “You were struggling and lost and didn’t know what to do. I’ve been there. We did the exact same thing, didn’t we?” 

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Poter gave him a soft smile, “where you’d say I wasn’t terrible.”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Draco was fake-annoyed, but he saw the weight lift from Potter’s shoulders. He had said the right thing.

“My head kind of hurts. I’ll take what I can get. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Is that right?” Draco quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, like you’re still an arse, but now it’s like you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Potter” Draco replied, slightly surprised at Potter’s bluntness. He hadn’t really hated Potter in a long, long time. He had felt enough hatred for one lifetime.

“I don’t hate you, either, Draco,” Potter replied. Draco felt his jaw drop in an undignified manner. Potter’s eyes widened at the realization of what he’d just said.

“Did you just--” Draco sputtered.

“I think so.”

“Well,” Draco composed himself and smiled, “aren’t we just the best of friends?”

“Are we friends?” Potter put it out there, voice catching slightly. Draco’s heart skipped more than one beat now. The silence stretched a little too long and Potter started looking like he regretted his entire life.

“You’re sleeping in my room. I think we can say we’re friends,” Draco laughed lightly, cursing at how forced it sounded.

Potter looked relieved, and held out his hand over the table. “To a new beginning, then, for both of us.”

Draco stared at it, a little overwhelmed. The image of Potter’s rejection of friendship on the train all those years ago flashed in his mind. But today, Draco shook Harry Potter’s hand.

“To new beginnings, Harry.”

~~~~~

Over dinner, Draco told Harry exactly what he thought about Harry’s little running away episode.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, I couldn’t care less about Granger and Weasel,” Draco began and Harry scoffed, “but I know exactly how it feels to be left behind. It’s arse, so leaving without telling them? Pretty shitty, _Potter._ Your reasoning is understandable, but damn,” Draco stared pointedly at his napkin, “I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.”

“What do you mean,” Harry asked narrowing his eyes, “you know how it feels to be left behind?”

Draco sighed between sips of beer. “Harry, when I left and came to America, I did it without leaving anyone behind because I did not have anyone _to_ leave behind. Both of my parents went to Azkaban, but you knew that. Despite what you said about my mother at the trials, she went. She was the only thing that might have kept me in England for good.”

“What about Pansy and Blaise?” Harry asked, then looked away as soon as he asked it. Draco forgot he had that picture of the three of them up in his room. Draco kept eye contact with his napkin, seeing something Harry couldn’t.

“We weren’t in the best of places this time last year. We had screaming matches whenever we tried to be civil. It ended with me losing both of them. I thought it was forever. I had no parents and my friends left me alone, the Prophet wouldn’t stop printing awful lies of stories and the whole country hated me. I couldn’t go out without being spat at or hexed or worse. I couldn’t leave my shitty flat, just like you,” Draco’s eyes snapped to Harry’s, wide and emerald and wondering, “So I left. But, I didn’t leave everyone behind. They already left me behind, and it was the absolute worst thing in the world.”

“So, I don’t care for Granger or Weasel, but when you told me you just left them, I couldn’t help but react like that. It was too much like last year with Pansy and Blaise.”

Harry’s eyes were soft and swimming with something Draco couldn’t place. He did look like he wanted to apologize, but thought better of it, like Draco would hex him if he tried. Draco might have, truth be told.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened with Pansy and Blaise after?” Harry said instead.

Draco smiled. “I did not hear from them at all for a few months, and being bitter about everything, I didn’t mind. But, around Christmas last year, they finally found me. Pansy and Blaise had gotten over their part of the row and I guess Christmas spirit and forgiveness were in the air. They had tried to owl me, but of course they did not know I was here.”

“Leave it to Pansy to find you when you tried to make yourself as inaccessible as possible. She would not tell me what she did, but I suspect some bribery was involved, maybe some illegal tracking charmwork, who’s to say? One day she was knocking on the door of the flat,” Draco let out a laugh, reminiscing at the memory. Pansy, normally so beautiful and put together was a shivering mess, dripping snow all over the carpet, nose running and cheeks flaming red. Chicago winters were hell.

“Anyways, she took me out to the wizarding district of Chicago, which I had been avoiding, and we met up with Blaise. It was awkward at first, but we got extremely hammered at some pubs and completely made up. We had had some pretty terrible rows during Hogwarts, but somehow always made up, so I should have known this was coming. The next week they came to they show I was in at the time. It was beyond odd having them there, completely clueless to absolutely everything muggle, also not used to Chicago’s winters, but it was like old times again. It was . . . quite lovely, actually,” Draco smiled, “we keep in touch now.”

“That’s . . .” Harry looked odd, and Draco could have sworn that he looked the slightest bit envious. He would have given anything for that look what felt like a long time ago. Now it just felt wrong. “That’s really incredible. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, well, thanks. I do try to gain your approval,” Draco smirked, hiding the slightest hint of truth behind those words. Harry snorted into his glass.

“Great to hear,” he rolled his eyes.

~~~~

After dinner, Draco took Harry around the area a bit more, showing him Chicago tourist essentials ("that aren't too tacky, who do you you're with?"). As dusk approached, Draco took Harry down the few blocks to Columbus Drive, a few streets over from Michigan Avenue. Normally, it was a little quieter over here, but not by much this time of year. By now, the sun was nearly gone and the darkness of night threatened to overtake the city. The city fought back with it’s own lights. Harry was too busy looking every possible direction and kept nearly running into lamp posts or tripping over curbs. Harry found the city at night, bright with lights and cooling off from the sweltering day, absolutely beautiful. Draco found this amusing. He couldn’t help himself from stealing glances, those gems of eyes full of city lust and wonder. Harry had an ever-present trace of a smile lighting his features. It was bloody adorable.

It was a good thing Draco couldn’t stop looking at Harry, because the next moment, he had to lunge forward to grab Harry’s elbow and yank him back onto the sidewalk. The idiot had been too busy building-gazing to realize he’d nearly walked into heavy traffic.

Harry was brought back to his senses as he felt the tight grip of Draco’s hand around his elbow, the force of his pull making him trip backwards over his feet as a truck blared by, the driver honking and cursing out the window. He felt another hand steady his fall, brushing the small of his back. Harry was briefly brought back to the rehearsal studio.

“You _idiot_ ,” Draco hissed into his ear. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Watch where you’re going.” Harry looked back over his shoulder. Draco looked dangerous, one eyebrow quirked in irritation. Harry found this amusing.

“Where are you even taking me?” Harry asked. After leaving the restaurant, Draco definitely had someplace in mind as he expertly turned corners without even glancing at the street signs.

“You’ll see if you don’t get hit by a truck first.” At this moment, Draco realized he had still been holding onto Harry and quickly let go. Harry rolled his eyes and smirked back.

A few blocks later, Draco saw their destination just ahead. Harry had not learned his lesson and was still gawking like a tourist at every building. He did not realize where they were until they walked past the final building that blocked the view.

Draco was satisfied at Harry’s delighted gasp. Together, they walked to the center of the bridge that stretched across the Chicago River.

“It’s a controversial opinion among my peers, but I like the view from this bridge more than Michigan Ave’s, which is the bridge right over there,” Draco smiled as the breath was taken away from him yet again. The view was spectacular, and he thought so every time he crossed this bridge. The tall buildings stood out beautifully against the dark night sky. The thousands of lights reflected off of the river strikingly, the water hushing out the noises of the city surrounding them. People dotted the walkways beside the river and little boats dotted the river. The cars whizzed by behind them. The sea scent of the river mixing with the scent of the city. Draco loved it.

He glanced at Harry to gauge his reaction, and did a real, actual, double take, to his own horror. The lights of the city were reflected in Harry’s glasses, which did dangerous things to Harry’s eyes. The wind from the flowing river was whipping slightly around them, causing that untidy hair to dance around his head as if sentient. The glow of the lights shown warm on Harry’s dark skin. The sight was almost too much for Draco.

Draco knew since fourth year that he preferred men. Women did nothing for him. His eyes would pass right over gorgeous girls that walked by, favoring instead to linger on flat chests and strong arms. He always objectively found Harry attractive, even more so now that they were grown adults. It was simply an observation. However, seeing Harry like this, so alive and awestruck before Draco’s favorite view of Chicago, made him feel something else entirely, and it scared him.

Just then, Harry turned those eyes on Draco, who was thankful now that Harry wore glasses. His emerald gaze was so intense that Draco didn’t think he could handle it without the buffer.

“If I had known this was here I might have left London sooner,” Draco thought fleetingly that Harry was talking about him, but quickly remembered where they were, what they were doing.

Draco shook himself out of it. He always preferred men, always found Harry _objectively_ attractive. He did not find Harry himself attractive in the slightest, he told himself over and over. He didn’t fancy Harry. With all of their history, how on earth could he?

Draco smiled at Harry, “Chicago’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Yeah and you ruined it, gendering cities again,” Harry rolled his eyes, looking back over the river towards the city.

Draco just took in the view before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember I east kudos and comments for breakfast.


	9. Chapter 9

It was late in the night before _Pippin_ ’s opening and Draco was completely overwhelmed.

“That was the last one. The last rehearsal ever and we’ll have a real audience tomorrow. Not some press night or preview, but real, paying, breathing people!” Draco was pacing from kitchen to couch to hallway and back. Oni stood by the corner with an amused smirk. Harry watched from the couch. The rest of the house’s inhabitants were locked away in their rooms. It was rather late, especially for this.

“These people expect an amazing show for the prices their paying. God, this is crazy!”

“Draco, maybe calm down a bit?”

“What are you on about, Oni?”

“You do seem a bit . . . nervous,” Harry added.

“Nervous? Are you joking? I’m thrilled!” Draco turned to Harry, locking eyes. His smile was bright, eyes alive with that familiar glow. Harry’s cheeks flushed behind his mug.

“Your excitement looks a lot like nerves,” Oni deadpanned.

“Oh, this feeling!” Draco paused by the couch and leaned against it dramatically, his hand landing over his heart. “Of course I’m nervous, but who isn’t? I’m just more excited than nervous. It cancels it out, yeah? I need some coffee.”

With that, Draco disappeared to the kitchen. _He’s so nervous_ Oni mouthed to Harry. Harry smiled.

Harry soon left the frantic energy of the flat to have breakfast at Ron and Hermione’s place (the timezone difference was such a plan-killer). Draco had been acting a little odd ever since that night on the bridge. Harry chalked it up to the play’s opening drawing ever closer. That would make anyone act odd.

The mood in the flat today was enough to push anyone over the edge, so he thought he could visit Ron and Hermione again before they’d worried themselves too much. He’d seen them once since the first time. It was more awkward than usual, but still pretty much like always. He still hadn’t told them his accommodations. They hadn’t pressed yet. Harry knew the longer he went without telling them the worse it’ll be when he does, but how could he?

The Draco Malfoy they remember was a bullying, uptight, blood purist, just like his father. The Draco Malfoy that Harry knew now was as snarky as before, but funny and kinder, full of love and passion for life and for his job. He smiles instead of scowls. His eyes are full and bright instead of piercing and cold. He’s still the same Draco Malfoy where it matters, but one who grew up, made his own life instead of copying his father’s, and chose to do what makes him happy.

“Still with us, mate?” Ron waved a hand in front of Harry’s face. Harry remembered he was supposed to answer a question. 

“Sorry?”

“I just asked if you found a flat, or were staying somewhere else,” Hermione said, eyes softening. “I mean, we didn’t want to press before as everything was so knew, but it’s been a couple weeks and we want to know how you really are, Harry. We’re only concerned.”

“Oh, well that makes sense,” Harry did not know what to say. Should he just get it out and tell them? He couldn’t think of how they could react. Well, he had a few ideas but none of them were favourable.

Harry took two deep breaths before continuing this iminent trainwreck.

“I’m staying in a shared flat with a few other people. Er, I kind of ran into someone who lived there already and they took me back to the flat,” Harry said. After a confused head tilt from Hermione, he continued. “It’s really nice, considering . . .”

“Hang on, you’re telling me that you met some stranger and just followed them back to their flat?”

Ron was about to say something, but Harry panicked and cut them off.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t a stranger! I wouldn’t go to some stranger’s flat!” Harry replied. “Well, at least not in this situation.” Ron laughed, and Hermione looked scandalised.

“So you know people in Chicago? Since when?”

“Well-” Harry started, but stopped. Was he seriously going to do this? “Well, I guess since first year, but he only just moved there last year.”

“It’s a he! So we know him!” Ron exclaimed, then frowned. “But everyone from our year stayed in England.”

“Well, everyone from Gryffindor stayed in England,” Harry corrected. This was going to be a disaster.

“Who were we friends with in our year not from Gryffindor?” Hermione pondered, “I mean there was Justin and Terry, but we weren’t exactly-”

“It’s Malfoy!” Harry cut Hermione off. He couldn’t hold it in any longer, this was becoming ridiculous.

Ron laughed. “Good one there, mate!”

Hermione only looked utterly confused. Ron continued.

“That’s hilarious. There’s no way, given our history, especially since he disappeared after the trials and no one . . .” Ron’s faced dropped as Harry stayed silent.

“No one knew where he went,” Hermione finished. “Harry, no.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ron leapt up, face red.

“I knew you guys would react like this,” Harry stood, not wanting to be talked down to.

“Malfoy? You left England to go stay with that-that-” Ron hit the table and turned his back to Harry.

“Okay, well, whatever you were going to say, he’s not that anymore,” Harry crossed his arms. There was no way he could make them really see how Malfoy had changed. “Not even close.”

“People like Malfoy don’t just change, Harry,” Ron replied, voice dripping with disgust.

Now Harry was furious. “Did you even see him after the trials? You weren’t there. I saw him, I heard him. God, he was,” Harry stopped and took a breath, trying to calm himself. This anger wasn’t doing him any good. “He was so scared during the war. We all were. We were children. And a war will change you. It changed all of us, Draco included.”

“Oh, so it’s Draco, now?” Ron turned on Harry again. Hermione jumped up and stood between her husband and Harry.

“Okay, enough you two!” She shouted. Tears were running down her cheek. “Enough.”

“Hermione, I-” Harry stepped towards her.

“Look, Harry,” Hermione took a moment to wipe her face and breathe. “I don’t understand. I’m confused, just confused is all. He was terrible to all of us, and hated me for who I was. I cannot forgive him for that, especially if he doesn’t care for my forgiveness. I can’t imagine he has changed at all, really. But, I know the war changed us so I guess I can believe he changed, as well. It’s just hard. To imagine you living in some flat with him.”

“How do you not murder each other?” Ron asked. He still stood behind Hermione, eyes dark.

“I told you, he’s changed. God. I’ve changed, too. I can’t hate him anymore. I don’t have the energy for that strong of an emotion. He,” Harry couldn’t help himself from smiling, “definitely has the energy, but maybe doesn’t care for focusing it on being an arse anymore.”

The three friends all sat down at the table again simultaneously, silence enveloping the room.

After a few minutes, Hermione spoke. “Harry, I can’t pretend I’m one hundred percent okay with this. I don’t know what to think. You leaving us to go to that-”

“I didn’t leave _you_ to go live in his flat. That wasn’t my intention, I left because I . . .”

“I know,” Hermione replied. “I know why you left. I’m sorry. I’m just at a loss.”

“Well, I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. I should have.”

“Maybe it was for the best,” Ron replied. He still wasn’t any happier, but he wasn’t yelling. That was a start. “It might have been emotion overload if you’d told us any earlier.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Harry sighed. “Maybe if you guys met him now you might understand.”

“Maybe!” Ron snorted. Hermione shot him a look.

“I don’t know, Harry. I don’t think I’m ready to meet him just yet,” Hermione said. Harry understood completely.

After a tired goodbye, with a pat on the back and a “Be careful, mate,” from Ron, Harry flooed back to flat, landing a little unsteadily on the bedroom floor. He could hear muffled singing from the living room as he warded the floo again.

Harry walked to the door on rested his hand on the knob. He could hear Draco’s voice swell down the hall, along with Oni’s. Every couple of seconds the singing would stop, and muffled conversation laced with short laughs would follow before they picked back up. The words were muffled and unrecognizable, but the tune and emotions were clear. The notes and harmonies were perfect. Draco was happy and excited and alive.

As Harry rested his head against the door, he wished Ron and Hermione could hear this and see what Harry was trying to get across. Of course, he understood their resentment and hesitation. Hermione was tortured in Draco’s house and endured his discrimination. Ron lost a brother to Draco’s side of the war and was taunted by him for years. It’s nearly unforgivable.

But still.

Harry shook his head and sighed, turning the knob. It’s just Draco Malfoy, he really shouldn't care this much. The problem was he couldn’t quite place the moment he did start caring. The voices grew louder as he approached.

Draco and Oni were singing the opening number together, attempting the choreography in the relatively small space. Harry leaned against the doorway to watch. Draco caught his eye and winked between steps. Oni slipped on her pirouette with a shrill shout and fell into Draco, who caught her and laughed, scolding her without any bite. Harry laughed along, feeling the uneasiness drain right out of him as the two started over.

Harry had told Ron and Hermione, and despite their not-so-warm reaction, he felt a weight lift off his chest. He was no longer keeping that heavy secret, and could breathe a little easier. Things were going to get better, or so he really hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and for all of your kudos and lovely comments <3 They keep this going!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun with this one, folks!

Opening day, the whole motley crew of flat-sharers went out for breakfast to celebrate. Oni was excited to show Harry their favorite breakfast spot (“Although you give The Nug a run for its money, Harry!), Draco kept running lines and lyrics, insisting he only drink tea for his voice. Lacey and Devi found this very amusing and came up with plenty of remarks for him. Harry observed his new friends around the breakfast table fondly, wondering briefly what Hermione and Ron thought his daily life might be like living here. Harry could guarantee it wasn’t this.

This was for him, though. Living like this, surrounded by people who didn’t care he was Harry Potter (save perhaps one) and liked him for him, was all he wanted. And he found for the first time in his life that he was choosing to do what he wanted instead of what others expected him to. Furthermore, instead of feeling guilty, he felt brilliant.

“Could I have another green tea with honey, for take away please?” Draco kindly asked the waitress as the group gathered to leave.

“Of course!” The waitress replied smiling. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she accidently knocked over a pile of napkins when she looked back at Draco over her shoulder on her way to the counter.

“Looks like she’s got a crush on you,” Devi observed to Draco who smiled.

“She has good taste, then,” Draco sighed, “too bad.”

“Poor girl,” Lacey replied, sliding on a backpack, as Draco followed the waitress to pay at the counter.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked. Suddenly, all four girls turned on Harry with an odd look.

“Really?” snapped Devi.

“Oh, Harry,” Ro sighed.

Lacey just shrugged.

“What am I missing? Does he already have a girlfriend?” Harry felt a little offended at this treatment. Honestly. The four girls exchanged a look. He felt an unspoken conversation happening right in front of him. Finally, Oni shrugged, and turned to Harry.

“Draco’s gay.”

No way.

Harry felt like he’d just been slapped. Draco Malfoy. He could not be possibly be . . . there was no way.

“You’re not homophobic, right? ‘Cuz if so, Harry Potter, we’re going to have a problem,” Devi stepped up, not breaking eye contact. She was honestly terrifying.

“No! No, I’m not. I just didn’t know. At all.”

“You’re kidding right?” Devi smirked.

“He is rather obvious about it,” Ro tilted her head.

“Did you even see him last night?” Oni giggled. “He even fits the theatre stereotype. It’s perfect.”

“Didn’t you know him in school?” Lacey asked, brow creasing.

“That feels like ages ago,” Harry replied. Now it really did.

After a moment, Draco reappeared, tea in hand, looking at his phone. “Okay, so David just texted me and said there was a mix up in the booking so we have the rehearsal studio for one more day,” he looked at Oni. “It’s not the actual set or anything, but it’s open all day for any last minute tweaking before call at six tonight.”

“Oh perfect, I’d love to. Still mixing up that _Morning Glow_ harmony and getting my left and right mixed up for _With You._ ”

“Not to mention those pirouettes,” Draco said under his breath.

“Okay, first of all, I was barefoot last night! Do you know how hard it is for me to dance barefoot?”

“I can do a quad, barefoot, in my sleep, Oni,” Draco said offhandedly. “It’s all in the spot. No spot, no spin.”

“Not everyone has jazz shoes for feet like you, most perfect human being,” Oni dramatically said, bowing.

“I know, it’s a pity. Let’s go,” Draco laughed.

Harry was thankful Draco hadn’t tried to talk to him then because he could not trust himself to speak right now. His mind was doing some weird things.

As they piled into the car, Draco turned to him.

“Hey, do you want to come to the studio again? Unless you’re busy or whatever,” he offered, pulling Harry away from the passenger seat battle between Devi and Oni.

“No,” Harry replied. “I mean, no I’m not busy. Would love to go with you,” he finished, quickly. Merlin, what was wrong with him?

Draco just smiled back at him. “Great.”

And so Harry found himself leaning against the studio’s piano a few hours later, watching the cast of _Pippin_ rehearse one final time. Not everyone had shown, but Devon and Kimmy were there along with a few others Harry had only just learned the names of. They all greeted him enthusiastically. He currently found himself in charge of starting and stopping the rehearsal music they used to practice choreography.

Normally, it might have been boring, but Harry found himself quite entertained.

Draco was all long legs and extended arms, dizzyingly fast spins and high, elegant leaps. His voice was just as elegant as he was. When Draco sang, he became another person. Harry supposed this was the point. He was acting, after all. This character, the Leading Player if he remembered correctly, was loud and friendly, a leader on the outside. But through nuances in Draco’s expression, sly looks he would throw at Devon’s character, Pippin, and little changes he would add, Harry saw that the character was also cunning, sly, and deceiving. He got all of this through Draco’s acting, and he was not even on a stage yet. It was, frankly, awesome to watch.

Then, when Harry stopped the music so the actors could adjust a mishap or take a break, the Leading Player would disappear, and it was just Draco, with his tight rehearsal trousers and loose grey jumper, his jazz slippers and tied back hair. It was Draco who would catch Harry looking and smile back, eyes warm.

And Harry found himself falling into those eyes. He could get lost in them, honestly. And for the seconds Draco gave him and him alone with those eyes, Harry did. And then, when Draco looked away, Harry realized.

Suddenly the odd leaps in his stomach made sense, the way his cheeks would heat up simply watching Draco do anything, really, made sense, his fascination with only Draco’s dancing and voice, the way he would drift off with only Draco in his mind, or defend him in Ron’s presence for no apparent reason, all made sense. Everything was clear.

And Harry let himself realize as he watched Draco whip his head back around to the conversation at hand, hitting Oni with his hair in the process. He let himself realize as Draco laughed and Oni hit him playfully, and as Draco pulled Oni out onto the dance floor, ripping off his jazz shoes. He let himself realize as Draco spun playfully, barefoot, five times around while Oni called him a show-off.

This was more than just a curious fancy, and the realization hit Harry like a train, knocking his breath away. He was falling rapidly in love with Draco Malfoy.

~~~~~

“Okay! Enough, everyone can see you’re the best,” Oni swatted Draco as he landed gracefully out of his pirouette, “the best at being an ass.”

“I love you, too,” Draco laughed, slipping on his jazz shoes again. He wouldn’t dare tell her how much that hurts the bottom of his foot, to spin without shoes. It was all in the name of pride, though, so totally worth it.

He looked up at Harry then to find Harry already staring. He tried to ignore the drop in his stomach at the thought. He knew he was always a little bit attracted to Harry Potter, but ever since his realization on the bridge, green eyes and impossible black hair was all he could focus on.

“It must be boring pressing buttons on the speaker all day. Sorry it’s not all that glamorous,” Draco drawled as he leaned on the piano next to Harry.

“Oh, er,” Harry coughed. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Honestly, this man. “It’s great. I mean, watching you . . . you all rehearse. A real insight,” Harry finished awkwardly. 

“Insight?” Draco looked back towards his castmates. Oni was choking on her water while Kimmy hit her on the back. Devon, Leah, and an ensemble member, Juliet, were passed out in a corner, napping. Nina, the female lead, was frantically flipping through her script running lines with others while everyone else ran various dance numbers half heartedly, running into each other. “Sure. What an insight.”

“You know what I mean,” Harry replied.

“Are you quite all right?” Draco asked. Harry was acting nervous. It was practically written on his forehead. If anyone should be nervous, it should be him. Or Devon, who was napping when he really should be running _On The Right Track_ with him again.

“What?” Harry asked shaking his head. “Perfect, yeah,” Harry looked away. Draco felt his cheeks go pink. This was too adorable. 

Well, Harry was probably just tired. Doing nothing but pushing buttons and watch a bunch of actors on break would do that to you.

For now, Draco really did have to focus. Maybe inviting Harry was a mistake. For the past two hours all he could focus on was Harry’s eyes burning holes into the back of his head, his presence was so fierce. He did not particularly need this extra rehearsal, if you could call this gathering of tried actors a rehearsal. He was ready for tonight, and he knew the others were, too. They were all a little nervous so this little rehearsal was more about blowing off steam. They all knew that, but the last minute tweaking was helpful to some, nonetheless. These past two weeks have been intense.

And not just because of rehearsal, Draco thought as he glanced at Harry, who was messing haphazardly with the stereo.

Draco wished he could stop these feelings. Being gay wasn’t much of a problem anymore what with both of his parents locked up and no one left to give him trouble for not being able to continue the Malfoy bloodline. The problem here was that there was no way Harry could ever feel the same way about him. He did date that Weasley girl. There was no way the Saviour could like men. Besides, luck had never really been on Draco’s side. 

It didn't help that they shared a room together, although that was Draco’s fault. How was he supposed to know he’d get this stupid crush or whatever anyways? Draco found himself too distracted to sleep with Harry in the next bed when he would much rather have Harry in his. He wanted to feel Harry’s body pressed up against is own, wanted to know how he feels in wrapped in Harry’s arms or vice versa, wanted to wake up in the morning to be greeted by those beautiful eyes and that stupid smile on the pillow next to his.

But that could never happen, and Draco would just have to live with it. He sighed, turning away from Harry regretfully to wake Devon. They needed to rehearse. They did have a show tonight, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and all your wonderful kudos and comments! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be two chapters, but have one longer one instead! Apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes that come with it. Thank you for all of your guys' kudos and lovely comments. They really do make my day :)

“Let’s go, Oni, we haven’t got all day!” Draco yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. He could practically feel Oni rolling her eyes through the wall as he heard the shower water squeak off.

“Call’s not for another hour, calm down. I’ll be right out so can you stop annoying me?” She yelled back.

Sure, they didn’t have to be at the theatre for another hour, but he knew traffic would be bad and being early never hurt anyone.

He turned away from the bathroom to wait in the living room when he was stopped by Harry’s voice.

“Hey Draco, can you come here?” Draco turned around letting out a begrudged sigh.

“Is everyone trying to make me late!?” He raised an annoyed brow at Harry, who just rolled his eyes.

“This will be quick, I have something for you.”

Curiosity piqued (although still annoyed), Draco followed Harry down the hall with an put-upon “Fine!”

“Okay so I know I probably should have done this earlier,” Harry began, closing the bedroom door behind Draco, “but I didn’t really know how or where I could find you, and I didn’t know how you’d feel-”

“Is this a marriage proposal?” Draco smirked. He meant it as a joke, but Harry’s face only went red. Draco cursed himself, he was so screwed.

“ _No,_ ” Harry turned away and rummaged through his duffel bag, arising with a sleek, black box in his hand.

“Are you sure about that?” 

“ _Stop,_ ” Harry sputtered, holding it towards Draco, “no, just-here.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, taking the box from his hand. He opened it, and any remark he had died in his throat.

 _His wand._ It was the wand he thought he’d never see again. He heard himself gasp. He gently touched the cool handle, and immediately felt it grow alive with warmth, the magic prickling and thrumming under his fingertips. The connection was still there, much to his relief. He’d always worried and wondered if it was gone for good.

He hadn’t felt this connection, so special between wand and wizard, in so long, he could almost cry. Memories swarmed his conscience: When he first held this wand and felt this connection at Ollivander’s, his first successful spell, late night practice, fun duels with his Blaise and Theo, and finally, having it ripped away from him by the man standing right next to him. 

He looked up at Harry, then, to find Harry looking at him with an odd expression. Curiosity, wonder, and something else Draco did not want to misread.

“Harry . . .” He whispered.

“I hoped you still wanted it.”

“Of course I do. I figured it was locked up in some glass box, on display at a museum for everyone to see. The wand that killed the Dark Lord, you know?”

Harry chuckled. “No, it was actually stuffed in the back of my closet for the past year.”

“Of course it was,” Draco smiled, looking back at his wand. The magic was like home, wonderful and soothing. He felt all the nerves and panicked energy drain right from him. “Thank you. This is exactly what I needed tonight.”

Draco chanced one more glance at Harry, who was wearing that expression again. Draco’s stomach gave another flip, not sure if he was misreading that look in his eyes. He had to be, there was no way it was real. They were so close, all he had to do was close that space. Harry’s cheeks were still red, and he was so close. He just had to lean in-

“DRACO!” Oni yelled, banging on the door with too much force. “What are you guys doing? We’re going to be la-ate!” She sang, laughing as her footsteps trailed away. 

Draco looked back at Harry to find the spell completely broken.

“Well, I’m excited to see the show tonight,” Harry said instead, clearing his throat. “I’ve never been to a musical.”

Draco smiled, reaching for the door. “What you’ve seen us rehearse is nothing, just wait. You’ll love it.”

~~~~~

Approximately two and a half hours later, Harry found himself walking beside Ro with Lacey and Devi just ahead down a side street off of Michigan Avenue, curious to be seeing Draco perform. He wondered idly about his costume and the show’s set, all of which he had heard nothing about. Draco didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

It was better than focusing on that _moment_ from earlier. The look on Draco’s face when he saw his wand was too much for Harry. The moment was all too intimate. Draco looked so vulnerable, so entranced. Harry had only seen Draco looking so vulnerable once before at the trial, but this time the occasion wasn’t so sinister. Harry’s heart had sprung out of his chest and he wanted so desperately to touch the man so close before him.

Then, Draco locked his eternally bright eyes on Harry, and Harry could feel the electricity. If he just leaned in . . . it would have felt so natural.

But, he _had_ to be misreading the situation. Draco Malfoy couldn’t like Harry. Harry, who was a mess of a man crawling his way through life, out of the hole that was his mind and Grimmauld Place. Harry had no life. He’d been alone and depressed and desperate for all of those months. There was nothing special about him to attract that sort of attention from someone so full of life like Draco, someone so opposite Harry.

That was probably it. Harry had not felt like he was living in so long. Of course he was misreading the situation. His emotions, drained for the past year, were flooding back to him all at once. That was it. Draco did not like him like that, not at all. He was barely a friend. Harry was just being stupid again. The reason he started feeling like that about Draco had to be because Draco was the one who brought Harry away from his void. It was just his emotions rushing back all at once, right?

It must be. That was why Harry still felt so alone.

“Have you seen Draco perform before?” Ro asked, interrupting Harry’s racing thoughts.

“Er, no. Not on stage.”

“Wasn’t there theatre at that school you two attended?”

“Oh,” Harry replied, “no. I didn’t even know schools did theatre.”

“Really?” Ro’s eyes widened in wonder. “Draco’s really good. I always just assumed he’d done it in school or something.”

“He is. Seeing him in rehearsals, I didn’t know he could dance. Or sing,” Harry added, feeling his cheeks go warm, to his dismay. “It’s surprising. And weird. I never knew . . .”

Ro gave him a sidelong glance, her knowing eyes lingering too long for Harry’s comfort.

“Rehearsals are nothing like a live show. I think you’ll be surprised.”

Just then, the group turned the corner.

“That’s the theatre there!” Lacey called over her shoulder. Harry didn’t need her to tell him, because he could obviously see that for himself. Above the overhanging was a marquee with the deep pink _Pippin_ logo surrounded by twinkling lights. It looked just like the West End in London. There was a crowd of people out front in some sort of unorganized queue, all happy and chattering, tickets in hand.

As they joined what they believed to be the end of the queue, Harry got a good look at the front of the building. On either side of the wide glass doors were plastered large promotional pictures along the elaborate front wall of the theatre, all showing various shots from the musical. Harry’s eyes widened in awe as he took a step towards them. The two cast scenes captured were wonderful and fantastical, stills of what promised to be a dazzling show. The four tall, narrower posters were action shots of the main actors. Harry recognized Devon, Leah with another, older cast member, Nina, and finally, Draco.

Despite himself, Harry was drawn to Draco’s picture. Picture-Draco was mid air, in a jazz style attitude jump, something Oni had tried to teach Harry late one night as Draco watched on, laughing from the breakfast nook. In the photo, his eyes were ever alive, a striking silver that shone through the still image, lips in an open smile, singing. His costume was all black and, to Harry’s delight, picture-Draco was wearing tight dance trousers that hugged his slender legs well, plus a form fitting tank top that showed off his frame. He wore a snazzy loose jacket that fanned out behind him in the jump, as well, which made him appear to be flying. The image was wonderful.

Above picture-Draco’s head, Harry read:

_DRACO MALFOY is SEDUCTIVE as THE LEADING PLAYER!_

“You’re telling me,” he said under his breath.

“Harry, come on!” Lacey called. Behind her, Ro hid a smile.

Lacey handed him a ticket and pushed him inside the theatre as he stole one last glance at the picture outside.

Not to worry, he’d be seeing the real thing very soon.

~~~~~

The scent of greasepaint and electrical lights, the scent of a show about to begin, filled the air around Draco. People were pushing past every which way, stage crew and actors alike. Draco strode down the dark hall leading backstage. Taking deep breaths, he smoothed back his hair, pulling his ponytail tight once more. He pulled down his shirt, smoothing out any wrinkles, and adjusted his mic pack. Another deep breath.

“Places! Places people. Curtain in two minutes!” The stage manager brushed past, turning her head towards Draco as she did. “Break a leg, Draco.”

Draco smiled, the pit in his stomach filling with butterflies. “Thanks, Ray.”

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his wrist. He turned around to see Oni smiling up at him.

“Draco this is it! I’m so nervous!” Oni squealed.

“You’re going to be brilliant. You have the most gorgeous pirouettes of the whole cast, remember that,” Draco replied.

“Oh, drop it. You’ll be awesome, too!” Oni sped past, giving Draco two thumbs up as she did, making her way to the opposite wing of backstage.

Before he knew it, the stage was spread out before him. After a week of technical rehearsal, it already felt like home. Stepping onto it, he felt the uneasiness slowly drain away.  
This was what he loved about theatre. This was where he belonged.

As he took his place between Leah and Devon, excitement replaced the nerves in his stomach. He glanced to the right wing where Ray and other stage crew stood waiting for their cues. Ray gave him a soft smile. _Thirty seconds_.

“This is it,” Devon whispered to Draco, warmth emanating from his dark eyes. Draco grinned in return.

On the other side of the curtain, the buzz of the chattering audience drove on. This theatre had a dress circle and a grand circle in addition to the ground floor stall seating, meaning over a thousand people sat in anticipation-a full house. These people had paid good money to be sitting where they were, and he was glady going to give them their money’s worth.

Not to mention, he knew Harry was in that crowd, seat G12 according to his ticket, approximately seven rows back and dead centre. In Draco’s opinion, an amazing seat with a perfect view of the stage.

The audience beyond hushed, meaning the house lights had dimmed. Draco closed his eyes and took one more breath. The first notes of the opening number swept through the theatre as the curtain slowly opened on the darkened stage.

The Leading Player opened his eyes and put on his charming smile.

This was it.

~~~~~

That could not be Draco on stage. Harry couldn’t believe it. 

He was the first actor to sing. The curtain opened on a dark stage. As the music swelled, hands in white gloves appeared as if they were floating in midair, beckoning to the audience, the effect capturing everyone’s attention as delightful gasps echoed through the theatre. Then, a spotlight landed center stage, and Draco stepped out, all bright eyes and seductive smile, just as the poster promised.

Except any presence of Draco was gone. This was all the Leading Player.

“ _Join us, leave your fields to flower! Join us, leave your cheese to sour! Join us, come and waste an hour or two!_ ” His voice followed the live orchestra, floating through the air like magic, as he motioned to the audience with all the confidence in the world, even with thousands of eyes on him. He was thriving.

The Leading Player sang another verse, moving in time to the music, adding in confident poses and subtle flairs, impressive and attention stealing. More lights came up on the cast as other actors sang small additions to the opening.

“ _So join us,_ ” he belted, “ _Sit where everybody can see!_ ”

And Harry was blown away as full lighting came up onstage, revealing the whole cast in colorful costumes and brilliant choreography as the full chorus joined the Leading Player. Harry had heard the words and witnessed the choreography, but he had never seen the stage presence and had not felt the power of a full chorus, with full mics, costumes, and energy. All of it led by the Leading Player himself.

“ _We’ve got magic to do!_ ” Step, kick! “ _Just for you!_ ” Turn, step! “ _We’ve got miracle plays to plaaay!_ ” Slide, step, leap, and pose!

Not only was Draco brilliant and seductive in the role, but he was also funny. As the musical went on, Harry found that the Leading Player had a ton of humorous commentary, snide remarks and quips. Some were aimed at Pippin and others at the audience. The interactions all came so naturally to Draco, it was hard to believe he was acting.

However, in addition to his quips and jokes, he could also send a shiver down the audiences’ spines. As the musical wet on, the plot slowly darkened and became more unsettling. Here the deceit and charm of the Leading Player played out it’s full effect, leaving the audience feeling unsettled right up until the end when Pippin finally came through, defying the Leading Player. Just before exiting the stage for the last time, the Leading Player addressed the audience with one more unsettling and brilliant monologue before finally making his exit, defeated.

And with every humorous quip, gorgeous pirouette, leap and step sequence, every beautiful note belted, and every deceitful glance and ominous line delivered brilliantly by Draco as the Leading Player, Harry found himself falling deeper and deeper into Draco’s steely gaze. Draco’s acting was brilliant. Draco’s singing and dancing were breathtaking. Draco was brilliant. Draco was breathtaking.

As the actors took their bows, Harry clapped wildly. When Draco came downstage center for his bow, Harry whistled and yelled along with the girls and the rest of the thousand-plus crowd. The actors backed away behind the curtain, as they finished singing the bow number, waving to the audience.

Just the curtain was about to close, Draco’s searching eyes found Harry’s in the crowd. Draco smiled, just for Harry, and Harry grinned in return. And this time, there was no misreading of any situation. No misinterpretation of any emotion. There was no denying it, Harry thought. He was totally in love.

He suddenly felt an elbow jab his ribcage.

“Ow, Devi!” Harry whined.

“Move, Harry, let’s beat the crowd to the stage door,” Devi replied, raising her eyebrow.

Harry scooted out of the row, followed by the rest of the girls. Lacey pushed her way to the front, effective at finding the best possible route through the slow-moving crowd.

The group pushed their way outside, giddy with the thrill of theatre, discussing the more imaginative parts of the show. The cool, night air brought with it revitalizing energy. Lacey led them up the street and down a wide alley around the the side of the theatre towards a small group already waiting. There was a young boy that couldn’t be over five or six waiting with his parents, an eager smile on his face. A couple of teenage girls were holding programs and pens, whispering excitedly to each other. A few others stood nearby chatting.

They all surrounded a heavy wooden door. An overhanging sign read “ _Stage Door_ ” and light flooded the alley from a narrow window to the door’s side. Every few seconds one of the excited teenagers would peak in through the window. Often, a stage crew or orchestra member would leave through the door, and Harry watched with amusement as the girls grew excited at the door opening, only to be disappointed that it was not a cast member. Slowly the crowd around them grew in number.

Harry and Ro (who was holding two colorful bouquets of flowers) were discussing the effectiveness of the two-tiered set when the door opened and cheering broke out behind them. Harry turned around to see Nina and Leah greeting the crowd. Harry hadn’t spoken much with Nina, but she was amazing as the female lead, humble and loving. Leah, on the other hand, played an excellent Fastrada, sexy and witty. Harry remembered Oni telling him that was the part she was going for, but was cast as an understudy-slash-ensemble member instead.

After Nina and Leah, other ensemble members and leads came out, some sticking around to chat to fans, others racing off, but all greeting Harry and Draco’s friends politely.

Harry was startled as more cheers pierced the alleyway, the stage door opening once more. Harry turned to see a white-blond bun thrown up on top of it’s owner’s head messily, held together by a pencil. Instead of a skin tight shirt and trousers, he now wore dark skinny jeans and a pale pink jumper. At his fan’s cheers and wonderstruck gazes, he threw back his hands in surprise, expression humble.

The little boy ran right up to Draco, trailed by his parents. His eyes shone wide in awe. Draco’s eyes softened in return as he knelt down.

“Hi, what’s your name?” He asked with all of the kindness in the world. The little boy looked back at his mother, who nodded encouragingly back.

“D-Declan,” the boy replied nervously.

“Really? That’s a great name. My name is Draco,” he said. “Our names begin with the same letter, isn’t that awesome?”

With that, Declan’s nervous face broke out into a wide smile.

“Did you like the show, Declan?”

Declan nodded happily. “Uh huh! I liked the part with the fire, and the part when you and the other guy danced! How did you guys fly like that!?”

Draco laughed. “Years of practice. In fact, I started dancing at about your age. If you practice, I bet you you’ll be able to do those moves, too, when you’re older.”

“Really!?”

“Of course. Declan, you can do anything you set your mind to, as long as you put in the work.”

With that, Declan turned enthusiastically back to his parents, asking about dance lessons. (“! want to fly, too!”) After a picture with Declan, Draco stood back up and thanked his parents for coming. They thanked him in return, and left, promising little Declan they would find him a dance class.

Harry watched dumbstruck as Draco turned to the group of teenagers (who now looked extremely nervous instead of excited) to chat with them and sign their programs.

This was difficult to process. What on earth did he just witness?

Draco was smooth with the girls, easing their nerves as he joked with them , asked them questions, and took pictures. He was so good with the crowd, treating each fan as if they were the star and not him. Harry, for the upteenth time in one night, was in utter awe.

“God, we’re going to be here all night,” Devi groaned. “He does this every show. _Every show._ How does he not get sick of it?”

Lacey and Ro hummed in agreement. Harry simply watched as Draco greeted every person who wanted to meet him. Draco was kind, considerate of each one. He was friendly and personable and patient, funny and witty and charming. Still, his silver eyes were sparkling. Harry had never seen a man look more happy.

Eventually, Draco turned to the last group of people waiting: his flatmates. Lacey gave him an enthusiastic hug and smile, Devi glared at him and admitted he did a good job with some teasing. Ro gave him a bouquet, which Draco accepted with a gasp and a kiss on Ro’s cheek.

Then, Draco’s eyes slid to Harry’s, and before Harry could process what was happening, Draco threw his arms around him, engulfing him in a surprisingly nice hug.

“Thanks for coming, Harry!” Draco said, breath tickling Harry’s ear. After a solid three seconds, Draco withdrew, smiling.

“What-did you just-” Harry responded, brain malfunctioning.

“Use your words, Potter,” Draco drawled, smirking.

“Do we hug now? Is that a thing?”

“Yes,” Draco rolled his eyes. “I just did it, so it’s a thing.” He looked back into Harry’s eyes, and smiled wide. “So, what’d you think? Better than rehearsal?”

“Oh my God, you were . . .” Harry trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. This day could not be happening. “Incredible.”

“Yeah?” Draco replied as pink crawled its way onto his cheeks. “I mean, of course I was. I’m always incredible Potter.”

“Hey guys!” Oni appeared, interrupting the conversation. “Harry, did you like it?”

“Loved it! You were great Oni,” Harry replied. “I hope I can see you as Fastrada sometime.”

“Aw Harry! Thanks,” Oni exclaimed, giving Harry a playful hit on the arm, “I hope so, too. I love the ensemble but I’m dying to sing her main song, you know?” With that, she jumped into a provocative pose, one hand running through her braids, and another down her thigh. “ _Back in my younger days, if things were going wrong, I might-_ ”

“Hey stars,” Lacey cut in, “we were thinking of grabbing dinner at Gino’s to celebrate, you guys in?”

“Oh, that would be great!” Oni replied, clapping her hands and returning to a normal pose, to Harry’s amusement.

“Definitely,” Draco said, “although I need to go back in for my keys, I left it in the dressing room.”

“Okay, we’ll meet you there,” Lacey replied.

“Oni can go with you guys and I’ll take Harry in my car. I want to give him the backstage tour while we’re here, if that’s fine.”

“Sure, but be quick. We won’t save you a seat,” Devi smirked as the group left, Oni taking Draco’s bouquet for safekeeping.

“Thanks, love you guys, too!” Draco called to their retreating backs. Laughter echoed back down the alleyway.

“Backstage tour?”

“Do you want to?” Draco asked, smile faltering for the briefest second.

“Of course,” Harry replied, perhaps too enthusiastically. He was about to get a peak of the exclusive backstage, and he would get a little alone time with Draco, no roommates to be heard of. His heart fluttered at the thought. “Sounds great.”

“Great, come on,” Draco pushed back through the crowd, the more excited fans gasping as he passed back through. Harry fought back a laugh. To think, these people were in awe of this man with a pencil bun and pink jumper who just tripped over the step inside. They saw him at his best, in costume and makeup and lights and felt his passion across the theatre, but they didn’t get to see the Draco outside of all that glamour: The Draco who danced in the kitchen at three in the morning when he thought no one could hear him, who sang in the shower and denied ever doing so, who drove a convertible and drank black coffee at midnight, who had mood swings and piercing glares and bright eyes and a tendency for sarcasm, who said cynical things under his breath then acted as if he’d said nothing at all.

The Draco who was driving Harry insane.

As Harry followed Draco in, Devon pushed passed with a smile to Harry. The crowd outside roared.

Harry had to sign in as a guest at the counter just inside the door. Draco explained to the lady at the counter that Harry was a friend he was showing around. The room was small and lit with a bright yellow light. Boxes lined the walls and notices and personal notes hung from a pinboard on the wall. Draco then led Harry down a dark hallway and up a small staircase.

“Just over there is the stage and,” Draco strode towards it, “brilliant! They left the curtain open!”

Harry was looking every which way at every wall and every corner. There was a long prop table that held many of the things the actors used onstage. A rack on the wall held costume pieces. Dozens of ropes and weights hung in the cavernous space above Harry. The air had a certain buzz to it, one that felt nervous and excited and calming all at once.

His and Draco’s footsteps seemed amplified in the quiet space around them, each resounding echo seemed final and purposeful. Each breath felt alive and peaceful. Harry thought he was starting to understand why Draco liked the theatre so much.

“Harry, over here!” Draco called. Harry looked down onto the stage where Draco stood. Harry’s breath caught in his lungs at the sight.

Draco was standing center stage next to a glowing white light perched on the end of a stand. The light reflected off of Draco’s pale features, creating the illusion that Draco was the one giving off light instead of the lamp. He was leaning on one hip, arms crossed as he looked out into the audience, a smile tracing his lips. He was glowing. He was beautiful.

From here, the stage looked much bigger and very daunting. Harry stepped out onto it, gasping at the sight of the audience from this perspective. Harry did not realize how huge this theatre was. It must sit over a thousand people. It didn’t hit Harry until then that Draco was seriously gifted to be performing for an audience so large.

Harry thought this as he stood next to Draco and the light, looking out across the sea of empty seats. They stayed like that, silent, for too many moments to count. Instead of the silence being awkward, it felt nice. Intentional and peaceful. Eventually, Draco broke the it.

“You know, when I first started this crazy acting thing, I had no clue what I was doing,” he was talking quietly, deliberately. “I had been in Chicago for weeks before I started it, mainly pushed into it by Oni.”

“Back then I was so scared and I didn’t know if this was something I even wanted to do. I was depressed and lonely and had panic attacks and worse nearly every night. Everything about the war was so present and persistent in my mind, I couldn’t get out of it.” Harry glanced at Draco, unsure of what to say at such a confession. Harry had always been pants in situations like these. Draco was staring out into the audience, arms wrapped around himself as if he were cold. He couldn’t be; it was still stifling on this stage.

“Oni doesn’t know it, but she . . .” Draco paused, taking a slow breath. Harry stayed still, listening, terrified he’d scare this side of Draco away. “She brought me back to her flat, and she found me nearly every night for days on end at my worst in that bedroom. She doesn’t know it, but by showing me her world of theatre,” Draco’s gaze slipped into Harry’s, “she saved my life.”

Draco, pale and glowing in the light, looked so fragile. He looked so small and vulnerable, nothing like the effervescent Draco at the stage door. He looked like he was ready to run. Harry took a step towards him.

“Oh Draco, why are you telling me this?” Harry asked with some twist of yearning and nerves in the pits of his stomach. It struck him with such an odd feeling how similar their situations were, only a year apart. Harry felt his emotions were all on his sleeve.

“I don’t know, Harry, you’re just so good all of the time, and I’m so-” Draco’s voice caught, and he shook his head with a disbelieving smile, never breaking eye contact. “I think I’m just trying to talk myself out of doing this.”

“Doing what?”

Suddenly, Draco’s lips were pressed into Harry’s, both hands on Harry’s face. Harry froze, unbelieving at what was happening. He pulled back slightly in surprise, his body betraying his emotions.

At Harry’s unexpected reaction, Draco pulled back quickly, hands flying to his mouth, eyes wide.

“Oh my God!” He whimpered through his hands, expression full of regret. He backed away. “Oh my God, what is _wrong_ with me!?”

Before Harry could respond, Draco was pushing past him, avoiding his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Draco!” Harry called desperately after his retreating form, but Draco was already around the corner and gone. Still in shock, Harry raced after him, down the hallway and past the counter. He burst through the stage door and into the alleyway.

A few people still lingered, but Harry pushed past them, searching desperately for a blond head in a pink jumper. All he saw was an empty alley.

Draco was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come for our poor boys! <3


	12. Chapter 12

Draco couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything but walk and walk, through the suffocating crowds and blurry city lights. The night grew chilly, a reprieve from the sweltering days before. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself. All he could feel was the chill and the dread and the rising panic in his chest. _Just breathe, Draco, breathe._

But he couldn’t, and he tried to push it back. And it wasn’t until he heard the waves crash against the shore that he let himself crash, too, and it all came rushing out of him.

He collapsed against the short, brick, barrier separating the walkway from the beach, sliding down until his hands grasped at the sand that only slid out of his fingers, away from him. Draco pulled his knees into his chest, burying his face in his jeans. He barely registered the wind from the lake or the gentle waves that crashed forever into the shore. His gasping breaths finally escaped him. And he cried and tried to breathe, but he couldn’t get ahold of himself.

Merlin, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t had an attack like this in months. It was all because of his pathetic self and Harry bloody Potter. Why did it have to be him? Draco had never felt so mesmerized by one person in his whole life. Sure, he’d had little fancies, like Blaise and Cedric, but those were just that. Fleeting fancies that left as quickly as they came. He never expected that the one who would finally destroy him would be Harry Potter. 

Then again, it was always about Harry, wasn’t it? Draco had spent all of his early years at Hogwarts doing everything he could to get the boy’s attention, in his mean words and stupid buttons and paper cranes. He never thought about it, never realized, what he was truly holding back all of those years.

But then Harry came and saved his life and won the war. He spoke at his trials and saved his life again. And Draco couldn’t do it. Harry had always hated him, hadn’t he? Always found Draco disgusting, a horrid Death Eater that only copied what his father had taught him. But Harry did these things, like Draco was actually worth being saved, and it drove Draco insane and confused him like nothing else. His life fell apart from there, so he ran away.

Like a coward, Draco ran away. And just as he was finally moving past the barriers and restrictions of his past, his past followed him in the form of Harry, quickly becoming the biggest part of Draco’s life again.

This time he thought he could make things right. He could help the kicked-puppy Potter by sharing his home and figuring out his life for him, but by doing so he only wrecked his own life again. By stupidly falling for Harry, he made the situation all about him and messed everything up like always. Always wrong, always screwing up, trying to do good but only causing harm, again and again, always and always. 

And what did Harry think of him now? Like a bloody fool Draco let his emotions and impulse take over. Harry looked so beautiful in the ghost light, the human form of luminescence, Draco could have kissed him. And so he did. Then, Potter tensed and pulled away from Draco, and Draco was reminded again that he was broken, only thinking of himself, always doing the wrong thing. Now Potter knew it, too, and Draco couldn’t deny anything anymore. Not to himself, not to Harry. Always broken, never good, never doing anything right, just so bloody stupid, a mistake of a person.

Draco was so lost, caught up in his own thoughts, that he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone anymore until he felt a hand on his knee.

He startled and scrambled away. His eyes focused on the world around him, outside of his mind, only to find Harry sitting next to him, hand hovering where Draco’s knee had just been, eternally bright eyes wide. He wore a cautious expression.

“Draco . . .” Harry said, pulling his hand back. “Merlin, calm down, you’re panicking.”

Draco didn’t realize his breathing was still out of control, coming out in heavy gasps, chest heaving and hurting, the cold air stinging his lungs. But he couldn’t stop. He felt light headed and dizzy, his stomach twisting like he could be sick. This was ridiculous, why couldn’t he stop? 

“I can’t—,” he choked out, “I—can’t—Harry—”

With that, Harry reached out again, and Draco didn’t retreat, not knowing what to think anymore. Harry’s hand reached behind Draco, landing on the small of his back. He began rubbing circles into the soft fabric of his jumper.

“Draco, look at me, it’s all right,” Harry said, voice strong and steady and grounded. Draco couldn’t do it, this was all wrong.

“ _Draco,_ ” Harry repeated firmly. “Look at me.”

Draco’s gaze slid into Harry’s for the second time that day. Harry’s eyes were so green, like the depths of Lake Michigan on a sunny day. Full of depth and wonder and a special kind of calm. Draco could lose himself in those eyes.

“Harry—,” Draco gasped.

“Shh,” Harry whispered, “Breath with me.” Harry inhaled, and Draco tried to follow, but ended up coughing. Harry exhaled, Draco tried. Breath in, breath out. In. Out. Draco kept looking into Harry’s eyes, the hand on his back keeping him grounded.

Draco realized his hands were fists in the cool sand. He relaxed them, feeling the grains slide smoothly around his fingers. Harry’s hand was persistent, repeating the circling motion on Draco’s back. Slowly and steadily, his tense body relaxed into Harry’s touch, his desperate gasps returned to breaths. His hands stilled in the sand. His gaze never wavered from Harry’s.

They stayed like that, minutes after Draco’s breathing was back to normal. His thoughts still raced, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t scare Harry away.

Eventually, he landed on his biggest question, the one that raced through his head over and over until he could trust himself to speak. “Why did you follow me?” 

Harry did not respond right away, and Draco began regretting ever speaking, fearing he’d ruined this fragile moment. But then, Harry took his other hand and gently brought it to Draco’s face. His thumb brushed softly under Draco’s eyes, wiping away wetness. Only then Draco remembered he’d been crying, too.

“You have mascara all over your face,” Harry observed. Draco felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards ever so as he let out a snort.

“Theatre makeup,” he said, voice hoarse and dry.

“And your hair is all over the place,” Harry said again. His hand left Draco’s face and reached for the pencil that was still, against all odds, barely holding Draco’s hair together. Harry pulled the pencil away, and Draco’s hair fell around him. Draco mechanically found a hair tie in his front pocket and pulled the tangled mess back to just behind the crown of his head, tying it off in a high ponytail. He never felt Harry's gaze leave him.

“No, it’s not,” he replied. His voice sounded distant to his own ears, as if someone else was speaking, as it often did after a panic attack. Harry just smiled sadly before Draco continued. “Why did you follow me?”

“You left without giving me a chance to say or do anything, so,” Harry replied.

“What was there to say?” Draco sighed, pulling back from Harry, immediately missing the grounding hand on his back. He thumped against the wall, pulling his knees into his chest once more, and looked out over the dark lake, closing back in on himself. The stars shone bright above them, the nearly-full moon illuminating the water. “I know you’ve always hated me, thought I was a disgusting Death Eater—”

“No, Draco—” Harry started.

“No, Harry, it’s true. You’ve always despised me, made worse by my stupid choices. I still don’t understand why you saved my life, spoke at my trials. I don’t get it. I’m just this horrible, broken person, and you’re just so good. So bloody amazing,” Draco glanced over at Harry. He looked dumbstruck. Draco turned away, his gaze back on the lake, feeling more tired than ever.

“And with everything I’ve done, with everyone I’ve hurt, with this Mark on my arm, I can’t believe I let myself fall for someone like you. I don’t deserve someone like you. Maybe this the universe's punishment for me, being so bloody head over heels for someone I could never have, that eventually I'll—”

Suddenly, two hands were on Draco’s face, and his glare was pulled away from the dark lake, right into the bright one that rested in Harry’s gaze. Before he knew it, Harry’s lips were on his. Draco startled again, but Harry was insistent. He let one hand trail down Draco’s chest and behind his back, pulling him closer. And, finally, Draco gave in to the kiss, eyes closing, melting into Harry’s embrace. It wasn’t a pretty kiss, but it was real.

After a moment, the two pulled back simultaneously.

“What—?” Draco started, eyes searching Harry’s.

“How else was I going to shut you up, stupid?” Harry replied. “I’m not amazing, Draco. I’m a huge mess, okay? I ran away from England without telling my friends, remember? I spent the past year of my life doing nothing. Just isolating myself from it all, depressed and pathetic.”

“Draco, you think you don’t deserve me? _Me?_ ” Harry paused, voice becoming softer with his gaze. “After all, I don’t deserve you. You’re just brilliant, God, and you don’t even know it. Just so full of life and energy. You have a passion that I don’t, you’re just so _alive._ And I'm not. I’ve done nothing to deserve someone like that.”

Draco felt his racing pulse calm as Harry spoke. “Merlin, Harry, we’re just two messes, aren’t we?”

“We’re so messed up,” Harry laughed.

“The worst,” Draco whispered, leaning back into Harry. This time, the kiss wasn’t so messy. Instead, it was gentle, tentative, as if each boy was scared of breaking the other. Harry parted his lips, inviting Draco in, and Draco obliged. And for one quiet moment, everything was perfect.

Minutes later, the two sat side by side in silence, watching the waves crash onto the cold sand. Draco could sit there forever, the silence stretching between them like some unspoken understanding. He could do this forever.

“Wait,” Harry questioned eventually, interrupting Draco’s peace. “I thought you didn’t have the Mark on your arm anymore.” Harry remembered all the times Draco would dance around the flat in T-shirts and tank tops. His left arm showed no mark, and Harry thought it must have faded with Voldemort. But, Draco had said minutes before that he’d had the Mark.

And Draco figured as much, despite Harry's tactless statement of a question.

He turned to Harry, and Harry looked back, face drawn with curiosity. Draco spoke, eyes growing sad in the way Harry hated. “Muggles are pretty clever, aren’t they?”

Draco rolled up his left sleeve and held his bare arm out in front of them both. He pulled his hawthorn wand from his waistband, and whispered two spells. _Revelio, scourgify._

After a moment, the dark mark appeared, staining Draco’s arm. Harry gasped. “How?”

“Glamours and magical methods of concealment don’t work on the Mark, but Voldemort never considered muggle ways of covering up. Oni showed me a theatre makeup trick to cover up muggle tattoos on actors. That’s how I cover it, then I cast a charm on the makeup so it stays the whole day,” Draco explained mechanically. Harry said nothing, and Draco panicked for the slightest second, fearing that he’d broken the fragile moment again. He glanced at Harry.

Harry, however, couldn’t take his eyes away from Draco’s arm. He was surprised at first, to see the Dark Mark again, a dark stain on Draco’s pale skin, but the surprise abruptly shifted to sadness and confusion when he noticed the other marks that mapped Draco’s arm. Over the bleakness of the Dark Mark lay many short, horizontal scars than ran up and down Draco’s forearm. Seeing Harry’s face morph with his emotions, Draco realized what Harry was really looking at.

“Oh, another poor decision I made,” Draco sighed, with a bitter laugh. “Muggle methods only cover up tattoos, so I use glamours on the rest.”

“Draco . . .” Harry whispered. Harry raised his hand and gently brought it to rest on Draco's forearm. Draco inhaled sharply in surprise, not expecting Harry to do anything of the sort. The scars were ugly as was the Mark. He expected Harry to do what others had done, to shame Draco or find his scars as ugly as Draco did. Most people would be revolted and look away in disgust or pity, but not Harry. Harry, who not only looked at them, but touched them for Merlin's sake.

Harry never was like most people anyways.

Harry, unaware of Draco's thoughts, felt heavy. He felt sad, his heart reaching out to the man next to him as he traced the marks on his arm. “Draco, you’re not disgusting. And this part of you . . . it’s not, either.”

Harry looked at Draco’s face. The moonlight was washing him out in a similar way the ghost light in the theatre did. His hair was still a tangled mess and dark makeup stained the pale skin under his eyes. He was imperfect. He was real. And now he looked as if Harry was telling him something he’d never heard before. Something he desperately needed to hear. “You’re so beautiful, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes relaxed, and he smiled. “No, I’m not.”

“Neither am I,” Harry smiled in return.

Harry sat back against the wall. Draco sighed and leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder, who in return, leaned his head on Draco’s. Harry moved his hand away from Draco’s forearm and tenderly into Draco's hand, entwining his fingers into Draco's. They sat together in a comfortable, understanding, perfect silence, listening to the waves crash against the shore.

And for a blissful moment, everything was perfect again.

“Should we go?” Harry asked after a while. “I think the girls are waiting for us.”

Draco didn’t reply for a long moment, losing himself in Harry’s touch.

“Okay,” he replied, bringing himself back to reality, “but we need to go back to the theatre first. I really did leave my keys in the dressing room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters to come soon <3 As always, your comments and kudos keep this fic and myself running. Thank you for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The grammar/spelling editing of this chapter was a little rushed, so apologie for any mistakes. I wanted to get the chapter out! Any grammar/spelling mistakes will be fixed soon and I'll delete this note. Hope you enjoy this installment!

Back in the dressing room, Draco flicked on the lights, then scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, can no one clean up after themselves?" He tutted.

The room was long with bright yellow walls and a hardwood floor. Mirrors and light bulbs ran the length of the room. Many of the mirrors were decorated with drawings or pictures and all but one had makeup and brushes haphazardly thrown around the area. Draco was currently picking costumes up off the floor and throwing them over chairs. The one mirror near the middle was spotless, green makeup bag neatly placed beside, chair pushed in. It had to be Draco's.

As Draco muttered complaints under his breath and frantically tidied the room, Harry moved closer to this mirror, still feeling as though none of this was real. He didn't just kiss Draco Malfoy on the beach, they didn't just walk back together to the theatre, fingers brushing the whole way. 

This couldn't be happening. Yet, it was.

The spotless mirror had two pictures and a newspaper clipping tacked on the corner One picture showed Draco and Oni. It looked to be taken during a rehearsal, but the room was different than the rehearsal room Harry had been too. Draco's hair was much shorter, only falling to his chin. He wore a sky blue jumper and black dance shorts over tights and those same jazz shoes. He looked like he was holding dance position before being attacked by Oni, who draped herself over Draco. Draco wore a slight smile, and Oni looked to be laughing.

The next was a picture of the flat's inhabitants on the beach. Lacey was crouching, hugging a drooling Iago. Devi stood next to them, watching the scene with a look of disdain. Draco, hair falling nearly to his shoulders in this picture, and Oni stood on the other side, making faces at the camera. Ro's face was right up front, obviously taking the picture, with a huge smile. The sun shone bright, the lake glimmered in the background, dotted with boats and people.

Harry looked at these photos with an odd feeling. To think, while Harry was in England, miserably attending funerals and services, making speeches, hiding in Grimmauld Place, Draco was building a life for himself here.

Harry then inspected the newspaper clipping and barely prevented himself from gasping. It was a clipping from The Prophet. The picture was charmed still, and shown a gaunt, defeated Draco flanked by a similar looking Lucius and Narcissa. The article's title read "The Malfoy's Fate: Azkaban Awaits!”

"Aha!" Draco exclaimed from across the room, startling Harry out of his thoughts. "Tom threw his fake beard over my keys."

Draco approached Harry, his triumphant look fading as he saw what Harry was looking at. He sighed and shrugged.

"A reminder. And it's the last photo I have of my parents," Draco chewed his bottom lip, brows creasing.

"I was just being nosy," Harry replied, resting his hand on Draco's shoulder. His eyes slid back into Harry's. "I can't help it when it comes to you."

At that Draco snorted and poorly held back a smile. "I know."

Draco opened his green makeup bag and dug around inside until his hand emerged holding a little plastic box. He pulled a wipe out and brushed it under his eyes, frowning in the mirror. The mascara stains faded away quickly. Harry watched with a growing affection as Draco let his hair down and quickly ran a brush through it, pulling at the knots in a way that had to hurt. He didn't put it back up, instead allowing it to cascade around him. Harry felt the pencil in his pocket.

Next, he pulled out a tube that held a liquid matching his skin tone. Harry watched as Draco rolled up his left sleeve, as if this were a routine, but then Draco paused and stared at his arm. A moment passed, as if making up his mind. He set the tube down on the counter, and ran his fingers over his scars.

Draco looked to Harry. "I don't think I want to hide anymore."

Harry chose his next words carefully. "Then don't."

Draco's eyes stayed locked on Harry's for a long moment. With the slightest nod, he put the box and tube back in the bag, leaving his scars uncovered. He zipped it and placed it back beside the mirror.

Draco faced Harry, hair brushed and down, sleeves rolled up and eyes bright. Harry still couldn't believe this was happening.

Draco leant down and placed a soft kiss on Harry's lips.

"Let's get out of here."

~~~~~

By the time they arrived at Gino’s, the girls, minus Lacey, were thoroughly tipsy.

“What took you guys so long?” Devi yelled as they approached the table. She was smiling and her eyes weren’t quite focused, her cheeks pink. She was the most drunk, Harry could tell.

“Probably making out in the dressing room,” Ro mumbled from the corner, nursing a cocktail.

“They were not making out in the dressing room!” Oni looked scandalized behind her wine glass. Lacey only laughed.

“I’m sure Draco just couldn’t find his keys,” Lacey explained, rolling her eyes. She turned to Draco and Harry.

“Thank God you’re here. It’s like taking care of toddlers. I regret volunteering to drive.”

“Wasn’t Draco just gorgeous on stage, Harry?” Devi turned her eyes and unsettling smile on Harry, who took the seat between Draco and Lacey.

“Simply _gorgeous_ ,” Harry drawled, smiling at Draco. He was satisfied at the pink blooming over his cheeks.

“What energy. I don’t know how he can do that eight times a week,” Devi marvelled.

“Well I don’t know how you can skate hours on end every day, so we’re even,” Draco shrugged, pouring himself a glass of beer from the table’s pitcher.

As the night wore on, the discussions of the show grew, then withered away as more interesting topics came up. Harry was deep in conversation about the most superior beers with Ro, when Oni grabbed Draco’s bicep, catching him off guard. He nearly choked on his drink.

“What?”

“Draco!” Oni exclaimed. She looks at his forearm, then back at him.

“Oh,” Draco replied, sipping from his glass. Draco had been completely perfect on covering up his marks since Oni showed him late one night after one of his attacks. His last marks were finally healed, but it was a bad night and Draco was going mad with resisting the urge to add more, to take away the mental pain with physical, to destroy the Mark. Oni had calmed him down and shown him his only solution then. She hadn’t seen a trace of it since. He looked at her now. Her jaw was dropped and eyes wide, waiting for an answer. “Walk with me?”

Draco and Oni excused themselves from the table. Harry paused his conversation to give Draco a knowing look and encouraging nod. Draco dragged Oni through the bar and restaurant until they were standing outside, the chilly air refreshing after the heat of the crowd and alcohol.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Oni asked with a slight, calming smile. It was the exact way she would approach him after an attack. Calm, helpful, and present, and it never failed to work in helping Draco. He could hug her right now.

“Well, back at the theatre, something happened with Harry, and I . . .” Draco looked into Oni’s eyes and sighed, feeling ashamed again. He had been doing so well for months. “I had a real bad attack.”

Oni nodded along and sat Draco down on the curb with her. She listened without interruption as Draco told her everything, from kiss to crying kiss. Her expression remained attentive. Draco marvelled at how lucky he was to have Oni. Her big personality, her innate ability to love and help and listen, her spirit, all of it.

Draco finished, explaining how Harry’s words had made him feel. “He didn’t make me feel all _beautiful_ or anything, despite that he said I was. The thing is, I didn’t feel ashamed or angry or sad. I didn’t feel worthless. And he gave me that, which was so much. I think he really meant what he said, yeah? So, I decided that I didn’t want to hide who I was before everything. That’s still a part of me. And I—Well, I shouldn’t be ashamed.”

Oni didn’t reply for a long time. She was holding Draco’s hands, tracing circles on the back of his as she always did. She looked so beautiful in in the city lights. Her braids lit up golden and her bright eyes shone like the sun.

Oni finally returned her eyes to Draco’s. “Draco, I can tell you’re still hesitant about all of this,” she smiled. “I can feel you holding your breath, just waiting for it all to disappear.”

Draco remained silent. She could see right through him.

“He loves you so much, can’t you tell?” Oni pushed.

Draco hesitated. Yes, Harry kissed him. Yes, Harry said all of those wonderful things. But . . .

“What if it will all disappear? What if he decides one day that I’m just not worth it anymore?”

The minute Draco voiced his fear, he felt the weight of the situation fall on his shoulders. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, now wasn’t that ridiculous? It could never happen. Harry will leave him when he goes back to England. He’ll have to return to his golden life and his golden friends, leaving Draco behind. He’ll realize that Draco is a mistake. It can’t last.

“So what if? If it will happen, it will happen. But that’s a problem for this ‘one day’ as you mentioned, and Draco,” Oni completely faced him know, their knees were touching, “I can see it. He is head over heels for you. I’ve been noticing how he looks at recently. He looks at you the way my dad looks at my mom, and they’re completely, devotedly in love. Have been for thirty years. That one day you’re scared of will never come.”

“Instead, you need to focus on the present days you have with him. Love and cherish today, and for every day for the rest of your lives. I can see what’s going on between you, and it’s not going to just disappear.”

Draco listened carefully to every word Oni said, taking deep breaths to remain calm as her words reassured him and set aside his fears for now.

“Okay, Draco?” Oni smiled. “You got it?”

“I’ve got it,” he replied, smiling in return. Draco released one of Oni’s hand and ran it through his hair, looking up at the sky. “Oni, I’m head over heels for Harry Potter.”

She giggled. “Yeah, I know.”

“I just needed to say it out loud,” he let out a happy sigh. “Oh, if only fifteen-year-old me could see this. Thank you, Oni,” Draco looked her square in the eye, “For everything.”

He stood up and held out a hand for Oni. Together they walked back into the restaurant. Draco felt better than he had in ages.

Draco slid in next to Harry, who was now in a heated debate with Ro. Lacey appeared to be with Harry, and Devi against, on Ro’s side. Draco didn’t care what they were discussing (something about ale?), but he enjoyed seeing Harry so fired up over something so stupid. It was endearing. 

And Draco couldn’t wait. As Harry was rebuting one of Devi’s remarks, Draco slid his arm around Harry’s waist, catching him completely off guard mid-sentence. The other girls, excluding Oni, who simply giggled, all froze, realization dawning.

Before anyone could do anything, Draco pulled Harry close and caught his mouth in a deep kiss. Harry responded quickly and kissed back, ever the aggressor. He felt Harry’s hand run through his hair, landing on the back of his head, and heard the girls whoop and cheer through the rush in his ears. Harry parted his lips further, and Draco took the opportunity with pleasure. After a few moments, Draco pulled away. Harry looked at him with a surprised smile and bright, emerald eyes. Draco was sure his expression was similar.

“Not making out in the dressing room MY ASS!” Ro belted. Harry laughed in shock at the outburst. Drunk Ro was much more outgoing than sober Ro, which Harry was finally discovering.

“Oh my God, you guys!” Lacey squealed, her hands over her heart.

“I didn’t actually think . . . Maybe I did . . .Oh my God!” Devi exclaimed through her hands, both of which had flown over her mouth in surprise.

Harry turned his attention back to Draco, and pecked him once more on the lips. “Well, that's one way to end an argument.”

“Hey,” Ro interrupted, slamming her hand on the table. “Who said we were done here?”

And so the night wore on, as did the argument for the best ale. In the end, the winner was “whichever is in your hand at that moment.” The group left Gino’s laughing and cheering, Draco and Harry’s hands interlocked, making their way to the cars. After a quick sobering spell, Harry left with Draco.

And drunk with the freedom of night, joy, and newfound love, Draco and Harry agreed that perhaps the greatest sight of Chicago was a found at night, cruising down Lake Shore Drive in an open, windswept convertible, the stars above, sea of city lights to the left, and everlasting lake to the right, sitting next to the person you love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3 As always, your comments and kudos are appreciated so much! More to come shortly.


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